Disclaimer: I do not, will not, shall not, and cannot own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Sadly, this kind of story has been done to the death using every trick in the book. Therefore, this will most likely remain a one-shot. It's basically just a muse that plagued me whilst I was skimming through the first few chapters of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. It will be a HarryXHermione story with slight Weasley and Dumledore-bashing, although that has also been done way too much for originality's sake. Just to clear some things up, this starts at the beginning of the summer of the GOF.

I didn't read the whole book and haven't read the real one in quite a while, so I don't know if that messes up the timeline but Harry still has that dream of Voldermort talking about the Quidditch World Cup and killing Frank. It takes off right from there, after the dream and when Harry wakes up. I will only describe the dream in brief detail, so I suggest you read the actual chapters if you want. Anyhow, enough said! Without any further ado, allow me to present you with my latest muse of the Harry Potter fandom...

Chapter 1: Taking Initiative

Harry Potter awoke with a start.

He was drenched in a cold sweat, and his jet-black hair was matted and tangled. His usually bright green eyes were now bleary and his head was fuddled with sleep. He was exhausted and felt like a wreck. He stank too and his head ached with pain. Groaning, he clutched his forehead realising his scar which was shaped like a lightning bolt felt as if it was on fire.

All thanks to Voldermort, Harry thought dully.

The Dark Lord had caused him no end of trouble. He had jinxed his life from Day 1, slaughtering his parents and forcing him to live with the Dursleys. Those were his last living relatives – his aunt, uncle, and cousin – who hated his guts.

They despised magic and everything to do with it, since they were Muggles and a particularly cruel, vindictive sort. To them, Harry was lower than a dog. A barrel of stinking rotten trash was kinder, for at least they could throw it out of their house and say 'good riddance.' But they could not do that with Harry, for they were his guardians.

Because Voldermort was out for his blood (then again, who wasn't?), he had to live at Private Drive Number Four where he was protected by Blood Wards, created by the Headmaster of Hogwarts – Albus Dumledore. That's right, Harry was a fourteen-year-old wizard and went to a school in Scotland that taught magic to other wizards and witches.

Truth be told, it was the only real place he could count as home aside, perhaps, from the Weasleys. They were a large Pureblood family who had taken him under their wing, and he was grateful for it. They were a lot kinder than the Dursleys and even some stuck-up wizards. But the Weasleys were poor and the Weasley Matriarch – Molly Weasley – was rather strict and overbearing.

While she was nice and a good cook, she reminded him awfully like the witch-form of his Aunt Petunia except a rather kinder one. At least she didn't slap him whenever she felt like him and starve him as a punishment. Quite the contrary – she would always greet him with the nicknamed 'Molly hug's' nearly smothering him to death, as well as feed him alarming amounts of food the likes of which only Ron Weasley, one of his friends, could eat.

He was still thankful to them though, but always felt slightly uncomfortable around them. Perhaps it was because they were such a lively, noisy bustling family unit that made him feel awkward, like an intruder. Or maybe it was because they were, to put it plainly, poor and he felt like a jerk living off their hard-earned money when he had plenty of Galleons in his vault from his parents.

Whatever the case, he still had a fun time with them especially when his other good friend – Hermione Jean Granger, a Muggle-born witch and the cleverest in all of Hogwarts – arrived. She would spend most of her summers with the Weasleys as well when he was there. A wry smile touched his lips as he realised what Hermione would say about the dream. Harry cursed inwardly.

The dream.

How could he forget? Voldermort had somehow awakened and was in a wraith-like form. If his dream was right and they usually were, this meant that the Dark Lord was vulnerable now. He had not summoned his followers yet aside from two and his pet snake, Nagini. He had mentioned something about 'the plan' which was probably an attempt to kill him, and it was connected to the Quidditch World Cup.

Harry realised, with a thrill of excitement, that this was his chance. Voldermort was weak and vulnerable – he said so himself. If Harry acted now while he had the element of surprise from both the Dark Lord and the Ministry of Magic, then he could end Voldermort before he became a threat. That was what he was supposed to do anyways, he knew, so why not end it when he could?

He always knew it would come down to either him or the Dark Lord. After all, he was The-Boy-Who-Lived and had ended the Dark Lord's life twice already and once when he was only a small baby. If he did it then (and the second time when he was a first year, mind!) who was to say that he couldn't end the tyrant's life again? People believed him, after all so why couldn't he believe in himself?

But then, Harry found a drawback in his plan. Dumledore would never let him go gallivanting off after Voldermort and Harry did not know where he was. The Dursleys, for that matter, would never let him out of the house if it wasn't to do gardening, take out the trash, or buy the groceries. Even then they didn't quite trust him with their money as they thought he would steal it, so they only gave it to him in small amounts.

Harry snorted in derision. The Dursleys hated him and his Aunt Petunia never wanted to adopt him. It was only because the Dark Lord killed his parents that she had to kill him. But Harry supposed that if he did kill the Dark Lord the Ministry could take care of his followers who were supposedly disbanded, and he could live a normal life for once. He could hopefully get a way to move out of the Dursleys and maybe with Sirius Black, who was his godfather after all.

But first, Harry had to get out of Private Drive Number Four and prepare for his confrontation with Voldermort. He had decided, more or less, that it would be wise to act now while no one could react. He would be at more of a risk when Voldermort had his body back as he was supposedly weaker now than he had ever been. Harry knew that Voldermort spoke the truth for he did not know about their connection through the scar, and Harry wondered why it even existed.

Heaving a sigh, Harry trudged to the bathroom to wash up a bit for he knew what he'd have to do. Normally, Harry would never tell the Dursleys any of his Voldermort dreams. They would only laugh at him and cheer the Dark Lord on for giving 'the freak' a nightmare that he deserved. In fact, they would probably hand him over personally to the evil wizard and end them the trouble of housing him.

Still, Harry knew that Aunt Petunia had a shred of respect for her sister, Harry's mum – Lily Potter. Otherwise she would have outright refused to raise Harry and keep him being a wizard a secret. Harry knew that if he played his cards right then he could, perhaps, persuade his aunt who would in turn persuade his cousin and uncle. They would begrudgingly agree, and Harry would need their help to carry out his dangerous quest. This would be much tougher than anything he had ever faced before.

He would need to be ready; he would need to be prepared. So it was that he found himself meandering into the kitchen, after towelling himself dry from his cold shower. It was still fairly early in the morning as Harry had always risen prior to the Dursleys to get a good start on his chores and homework. He would sometimes go for a morning jog as well, whenever he could afford it. Luckily for him he had the time as it was the first day of summer. Normally, he hated summers as they were haunted by the blasted Dursleys but this time he actually looked forward to it.

Ideas were flooding through him as he whistled an old tune whilst making coffee and breakfast. He would need the caffeine and was making tea for his relatives. They detested coffee but kept some for visitors who would stop by on occasions. Harry had only recently started drinking the stuff and soon found himself addicted to the tasty brew. He breathed a sigh of relief as the smell of piping hot coffee and sizzling bacon wafted up his nostrils. He turned over the omelette on the stove and cracked another egg in the bowl to make some more for the Dursleys.

About half an hour later, breakfast was served and settled on the table covered to stay warm. Harry himself was just finishing his mug of coffee, leaning on the kitchen counter when Dudley stumbled into the hallway. Obviously, he had been asleep when Harry arrived late at night from Hogwarts and hadn't been informed, for his wail of a cousin shrieked and clutched his bottom. He froze in shock and watched Harry warily as the green-eyed wizard smirked from behind his mug of coffee.

"Morning, Dudlers," Harry said with forced cheerfulness, quickly disarming his rather dull cousin. "What's up?"

Dudley squeaked, as if afraid and backed away.

"Listen Dudley," Harry said softly, putting his mug down on the counter and clearing his throat. "As much as I hate to do this, I must have an important conversation with your parents. You can come if you want as it involves them and you as well. It's about all of your safety and you might even get some pocket money out of it."

Dudley's eyes lit up in glee at the words 'pocket money' and he dashed back up the stairs to his parents' bedroom. Harry shook his head and rolled his eyes, wondering how something so stupid could wake up the git so easily. It was like he had just gotten a sugar high or something. Chuckling dryly at the mental image, he took a deep breath as he heard footsteps thump down the stairs and to the kitchen. Glancing up from the morning paper next to the sink, Harry saw that all three Dursleys were assembled.

Dudley was hiding fearfully behind his father. Uncle Vernon was still sleepy-eyed but looked angry at being woken up 'so early'. He was restrained though, by a tight-lipped and suspicious-looking Aunt Petunia. She had her hand tightly on Vernon's arm as if to restrain him from lashing out. Harry was mildly surprised about this, but realised that his message to Dudley had been rather ominous and intriguing. Bracing himself, he grinned at them and said 'good morning'. Their eyes bulged in surprise and Harry stifled a laugh.

"What do you want, freak?" Vernon spat, literally.

Harry grimaced inwardly and spoke, bracing himself for their disbelief.

"I know this may sound highly unlikely," He said with some trepidation and butterflies in his stomach. "But Voldermort has come back from the dead."

He was unable to hide a smirk as they all flinched at the Dark Lord's name. Actually, only Petunia flinched at that for she was the only one who really knew about him. Vernon and Dudley only started probably because of what he said about coming back from the dead.

"You mean like a zombie?" Dudley asked stupidly, his eyes wide in awe and fear.

If the situation had been any less dire, Harry would have laughed. It was a surprisingly apt description from someone so dull and stupid as Dudley, as the prat played those kind of video games where an armoured marine would have to shoot up hordes of gross-looking zombies.

"Sort of," Harry said slowly, nodding his head from side to side unsure of how to quite describe this.

Dudley gave a squeak of fright and took a step backwards.

"What's this nonsense about, boy?" Vernon growled, his 'anger' vein pulsating.

Harry winced.

"It's not nonsense," He said, swallowing hard and trying to speak calmly. "It's real and I am telling the truth. I had a vision of him last night, by means of my scar."

Pushing his hair back, he pointed to his lightning-bolt scar and Petunia gasped. Her face paled and she too stepped back behind Vernon. The fat man was looking all the more uneasy by the minute.

"If this is some kind of sick joke it's a month without food, boy!" Vernon threatened.

"I am prepared for that," Harry said calmly and evenly, looking Vernon right in the eyes.

Vernon held a stare down with him but was the first to look away.

"What does that have to do with us?" He asked through clenched teeth like every word pained him.

Harry rolled his eyes at his uncle's stupidity.

"He wants me dead," Harry said plainly, feeling frustrated at their looks of confusion. "Voldermort does."

"Well good riddance!" Dudley stammered and Vernon nodded in approval, ruffling Dudley's hair.

"Little tyke knows what he wants!" Vernon chuckled.

"I'm serious," Harry growled, feeling fed up with their cruelty and arrogance. "He wants me dead but not just me. If he kills me, he will get his revenge on all those who befriended me and sheltered me. He will come after you next as you are my relatives and housed me for a good portion of my life. You are Muggles, non-magic folk, and that makes you worthless to him just as I am meaningless to you if not more so."

Aunt Petunia gasped and Uncle Vernon looked forlorn as if finally realising what Harry meant. Dudley looked all the more pale and sickly if that was at all possible. Harry sighed.

"Look," He said, rubbing his temples. "I am not saying this to scare you for revenge. I am saying this because as much as we hate each other, we are family. As a wizard I am honour-bound to protect my family and I owe you for housing me all these years, even though you were also protected with the Blood Wards."

"What are you playing at, Potter?" Petunia sneered, trying to retain her previous self.

"I am trying to protect you," Harry deadpanned. "But I need your permission and your help in order to do so."

"Why?" Uncle Vernon asked, completely baffled. "What do you need us 'Muggles' for? I thought we were scum of the earth to you."

"Wrong," Harry said. "You and I have our differences. We dislike each other and would sooner get out of our hair, right?"

He was answered by three hesitant, reluctant nods.

Good, Harry thought inwardly. This is the first step, we're getting there!

"Then I need your cooperation to help us do just that," Harry said. "Recently, I rescued my godfather. However, he is currently in hiding because the corrupt authorities have been mislead to believe he is an outlaw."

"You mean that Black characters?" Aunt Petunia asked suspiciously.

Harry nodded warily. "Yes, he is actually innocent but was framed by one of Voldermort's followers when he tried to get revenge on my parents' death."

To Harry's surprise and relief, his aunt looked briefly pained at the mention of his mum and he realised he might have touched a nerve there.

"So your...godfather," Petunia said slowly and cautiously. "Can actually take you in?"

"Yes," Harry said, trying to hide his triumph at them finally seeing the light.

"Then why hasn't he?" Dudley challenged.

Harry groaned.

"I just told you," He sighed. "Because the Ministry of Magic is corrupt and terrified of Voldermort in the wake of his destruction. He was so evil that even now after I killed him as a baby they cannot even say his name. Only my best friend is brave enough and she's a Muggle-born."

"Why are you telling us this?" Vernon asked warily, confusion evident in his eyes.

"Because I can change all that and give you the reward you deserve for housing the Boy Who Lived," Harry explained. "If you help me do what's necessary to kill the Dark Lord and end his followers, then I will pay you in full for taking care of me and we shall never hear of each other again. I will not tell a soul that you abused me and neglected me for over a decade of my early life."

All three paled drastically at that and Harry had the smug satisfaction of watching his words sink in. That last part really hit home.

"Very well," Vernon muttered. "We will help you but only if you swear to keep up your end of the bargain."

At first Harry was surprised but then immensely relieved when he had their backing. With their honest approval, Dumledore could really say nothing – especially if he didn't know about it – to him ending Voldermort. All he had to do was get some equipment and make a few very needed preparations. The Dark Lord had even told his own minions that they would not act until after the Quidditch World Cup. That gave Harry plenty of time, and he would probably be able to attend the World Cup if all went well.

Relaxing into a grin, he thanked the grumpy-looking Dursleys and promised to keep his word. With that they were reluctantly satisfied, and sat down to eat their breakfast while Harry hastened to feed Hedwig and get ready for a trip to Diagon Alley. He and the Dursleys could never be friends after all they did to him, but they could at least act civil and he could use them to defeat the Dark Lord. Already a myriad of plans were flashing like wild fire through his brain and he felt better than he had in a long, long time.

Maybe this summer wasn't going to be so bad after all!

A/N: Well, that's about all for now. Sadly, nearly every good idea has already been written down in numerous fics making this genre very cliché and overdone. Thus, I don't see any future chapters in the works although I do have a few ideas just in case I change my mind. I just had to write down this chapter, as I was inspired by the bit in the beginning of the Goblet of Fire where Harry laughs off the idea of telling the Dursleys about his dream. I just wondered what would happen if he told them.

How would things be different? Voldermort was still weak and only protected by his two minions and Nagini. The other Death Eaters were too afraid to throw off their disguises as, if you remember the graveyard scene, they were reluctant to take on their old lives. Of course, that is no excuse to see them pardoned and if I continue this fic they will be punished accordingly. Well, that's about all for now but do tell me if I should continue it or not in a comment or PM. Any advice, suggestions, and feedback would be real appreciated.

Many thanks in advance!