Harry Potter & the Child of Phoenix
Disclaimer: We've discussed this. I don't own anything! Except for the plot and the characters you've never heard of. They're mine. Mine.
A/N: Here's the official first chapter. PLEASE READ MY PROFILE BEFORE READING CHAPTER ONE!! I guarantee you'll be lost with out it. If you haven't read book five, don't read the profile. And to warn the rest of you out there, MAJOR BOOK FIVE SPOILERS AHEAD (with my twist on things, of course).
Chapter One: Burning Recollections
Sweltering.
Not hot. Slightly steaming. But sweltering.
The drought had returned full force to Privet Drive once more, browning the lawns and looming over the wilting flowerbeds. In the dead of heat, no wind ever blew. Not even to ruffle a few chaotic black strands of hair on the lanky young man resting under an open window.
He sat against the tidy walls of Number Four, Privet Drive, hidden amongst dying hydrangeas and begonias, sweat pouring from beneath his ivory skin. The boy sat with his left leg bent, his thin left arm draping over his knobby knee. His right hand toyed with something in his right pocket, unbeknownst to his nosy relatives or snooping neighbors. The long, slender stick made of the finest holly, eleven inches in length.
A wand.
Why such an abnormal and peculiar object was gracing Privet Drive was kept in the utmost secrecy. No one on this sleepy lane knew the deepest, darkest secret residing in the four standing walls of Number Four, Privet Drive, as the Dursley family was just as normal as the next. Except…
The odd boy residing with them. The so-called "incurable juvenile delinquent."
Harry Potter.
He was in no way abnormal to the people of his world. In this shunning, ungrateful humanity, he was viewed a menace. A mere parasite to his loving, generous kin. Every neighbor knew his parents were killed in a car crash, and the quiet, respectable family was rocked to the core when he was placed under their guardianship.
Or so they were told.
Harry Potter was not a normal boy. Not by any standard, truly. That was, if there was such a standard deemed 'normal.' He was a wizard. A magical individual living in an un-magical surrounding. The only people on Privet Drive who knew the truth, were the four individuals dwelling in Number Four.
And an eccentric elderly woman with an insatiable affinity for felines.
At the thought of the geriatric Squib, Harry sighed. He remembered last year, the soul-sucking Dementors attacking his cousin and the young wizard while walking home. He reminisced over the owls swooping in and out of Number Four with letters of expulsion. Harry remembered his trip to grimy Grimmauld Place, and his trial. As he let his mind wander, it drifted to various events occurring the previous year: O.W.L.s, Quidditch, classes….
The Department of Mysteries.
He diligently tried to forget how he almost cost his best friends and classmates their lives, not to mention the entire Order of the Phoenix. But at least one good thing came out of it.
The Minister of Magic finally buckled under his chipping façade and admitted the return of the Dark Lord. The boy snorted derisively at how he was the target of bad publicity for months, news bearers such as the Daily Prophet exaggerated; and in one night, he was back to being the hero of the world of Gullibility.
He absently lifted a finger to trace the lightning bolt-shaped scar on his perspiring forehead, a dark mark of his own. His link to that fateful night in Godric's Hollow. The Boy-Who-Lived, he mentally ran over his celebrity nickname, and snorted once more.
Lived for what?
To have others around him killed? To fall into trouble? Did he live to be a pawn in an upcoming war unbeknownst to the Muggles? Did he live to fail?
Did he live only to die?
Harry furrowed his brows and picked at the brown grass below him. As far as he knew, he only lived to endanger those around him. The countless adventures he sought, mysteries he solved, and people he dragged along for the experience. If you really wanted to call it that, he bitterly mused Now, more than ever, his schoolboy adventures seemed more like instruction, training. Since he learned of what his destiny was bringing forth, he regarded his lucky encounters as unconscious methods of preparation.
Fingering his wand cautiously, Harry surveyed the world beyond the bushes before him. Taking the words of Mad-Eye Moody to heart, Harry furtively watched the street in front of him. All seemed normal, but when it contained Harry, nothing ever was. Not that he was expecting Voldemort to jump out of the withering shrubs and curse him, but it never hurt to be constantly vigilant.
Sighing in boredom after a few minutes of scanning the area, Harry thought over his uneventful summer thus far. Nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, from what he had viewed on the Muggle news, and the infrequent letters from his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger had no indication of trouble. Their epistles were brief and mundane, he regretted to describe it so, but he was comforted by the fact the two were jaded as well. Then again, the Order of the Phoenix would never alert either teenager of dark occurrences, for fear of another episode reminiscent to the end of the school year. The Order would also warn Hermione and Ron not to say anything in their letters. Dumbledore would warn them.
Harry briefly thought over the concept of Ron and Hermione lying to him about their whereabouts, but shrugged it off as they constantly assured them they were home. Not to mention their home addresses were on the envelopes. With an added note, he only assumed an Order member was watching him at this very moment, as they had last year.
Harry sighed heavily, drawing his knees up to his chest. He heard the house telephone ring and the clicking of heels on linoleum as his Aunt Petunia ran to grab it. With a sickly-sweet, honeyed voice reminding him harshly of his fifth-year Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Harry tuned his aunt out and watched a few passing Muggles.
Dolores Umbridge was the worst addition to the Hogwarts staff other than Severus Snape. Her cruel punishments and imbalanced conclusions made the warm, comforting halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry an uncomfortable experience. Out of hundreds, she sought him out as a troublemaker and punished him accordingly. Glancing at his scarred hand, Harry vaguely made out the words 'I must not tell lies' etched on the back of his hand. Sure, it was fading, but he would never forget the pain he endured as he scratched those words to parchment in his own blood.
Blood.
It was his that made Voldemort come back in his fourth year.
Voldemort.
Harry absently cradled his head at the thought of the name of the wizard who had caused so much pain. He had killed so many—Cedric, his parents, numbers of others—and he'd been this close to losing his godfather. Luckily, the innocent convict sidestepped the spell, sent by his deranged cousin, and escaped certain death. The young wizard ran a hand through his messy raven hair, contemplating that night.
He had nearly gotten the members of the Order killed, only for the prophecy to be smashed. His head ached slightly when he thought of Voldemort once more. The man had snaked through his brain, seizing control of his mind and body, possessing him none-too-gently. Who knew what the sorcerer discovered in his mind: what he could use against him next. It was the most painful experience Harry had ever felt; losing his control to is enemy. He was sure he was going to die, or rather, kill himself.
Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Harry heard his aunt still conversing avidly over the phone her nameless friend. He sighed, thinking back to his own best friends. They hadn't written in a few days, but he wasn't worried. He reminded himself to write a letter to the Order today, since tomorrow would be the third day. Hedwig, his trusty snow-white owl, would be delighted to deliver another letter for him, as all she did in between correspondences was hunt and sleep. The Dursleys had taken to Mad-Eye Moody's threat at the train station, and for the most part, left him alone.
Oh, there were the customary glares and short words—not to place the Dursleys on angelic pedestals (the weight of Dudley alone would most likely snap his in an instant)—but they were tolerable.
He sent his letters without conflict, and stayed out of their way. He performed fewer chores than he ever did this summer, mainly washing dishes and cutlery once in a while and mowing the dead lawn. If he wasn't in his room upstairs, he could be found under the living room window, staring at passersby.
Of course, he could do summer work to pass the time, but so far, he had only gotten his Charms essay done. True to the lazy teenager philosophy, he would most likely seek to do them when it was almost too late.
Harry's lids lightly fluttered closed over his emerald eyes, but he had no inclination to take a nap. Nightmares of Voldemort worming through his head plagued him infrequently at nights, leaving his vision mostly blank, but restless. The last thing he needed now was to doze off under the window in this heat and scream out Voldemort's name, startling the neighbors. Exhaling roughly, the young wizard hoisted himself off the ground, dusted off his scruffy jeans of dead grass, and exited the garden down the road. He checked to make sure his wand was still in his pocket, then shoved his hands in them, walking off to nowhere.
He had grown quite a bit since he last noticed himself. One inch away from six feet, Harry expected to grow the remaining inch during the rest of his summer vacation. His cousin, Dudley, was still short and round; he had willingly ballooned to the size of Hagrid, on squat, stubby legs. His parents, naturally, had stated that as a growing championship boxer, he needed his nourishment, but Harry tended to think if he ate anymore, the only thing he would be boxing was the eight-hundred-pound gorilla at the city zoo.
Ambling idly down Magnolia Crescent, Harry viewed the local Muggle children running about at the park. It was rebuilt and gated since its 'unknown vandalizing' last year, which Harry had known to be the work of his cousin and his cronies. Watching a few children on the swings, Harry noted the cheery smiles on their young faces, and the air of exuberance, and he scowled slightly. If they had known what was coming, they wouldn't be so cheerful. Then again, he didn't even know what was coming, since the Order never informed him of anything.
He continued his trek up Wisteria Walk, avoiding the spot last year where Dementors converged on he and Dudley. It was when he first found out Mrs. Figg was a Squib. Peeking at the street signs, he noted he was close by to her residence. Perhaps she wouldn't mind a guest today.
ooooo
Trotting up the drive to Mrs. Figg's door, Harry hesitantly rang the doorbell. Deep down, he thought it was a bad idea to disturb the lady, but curiosity and monotony won out, and he was sure the senior citizen had nothing better to do than to converse with her many felines. He'd even listen to her stories and observe her photographs if it meant he didn't have to return to his unnecessary guard of Privet Drive. The padding of feet behind her aging door alerted him to her presence. Telltale grumbles from inside the house signaled to him his disturbance of the elderly lady.
He decided now was as good a time as any to run down the street without her noticing him, but his plans of escape were shattered as the door swung open a crack. The wizened woman glanced him up and down as if to size him up. Harry flashed her a nervous grin. She wore a moth-eaten, faded cardigan and a rumpled skirt, baring her varicose-veined, sun-spotted, fragile legs, and her token tartan slippers.
"What?" she rasped. "There trouble, boy?" she quickly glanced up and down the road and behind Harry. "What?" Harry had no idea what to tell her. That he'd been lonely and bored so he decided to visit? That he'd wanted to visit her cats?
"Er…" he mumbled for lack of a better answer. "I, er…wanted to, um…visit…you?" Her wrinkled eyebrows shot up into her frazzled gray fringe. Maybe that was the wrong thing to say. Harry visibly relaxed when a small smile graced the Squib's crinkled lips. She opened her door wider to allow the boy in. Her rare smile reminded Harry eerily of his Transfiguration professor, as she seldom grinned at any of her students, let alone anyone in public.
"Come in, come in, yeh," she urged, leaving the small foyer. "Close the door, an' don't let the cats out." Harry hurriedly complied, locking the door behind him. "This way." She hobbled down the familiar short corridor into her sitting room. Immediately, Harry took the smell of aged cabbage, and nearly stumbled over a few gray, white, and orange blurs darting around after each other. Mrs. Figg gestured for him to take a seat.
"Want some tea?" she asked, raspy voice lightening. "Not of'en I get visitors, yeh see." She sat down as Harry declined on the tea offer. "What's both'rin' yeh?" Harry flinched slightly, startled she could read his expressions so well.
"Er, nothing, Mrs. Figg." He murmured. She raised a gray eyebrow.
"I can tell yeh're lyin'," she stated. "Something's up." Her favorite feline, Mr. Tibbles stalked into the room and jumped beside her on the couch. "Look like yeh've got the weight o' the world on yeh're shoulders, yeh do." The wizard sighed heavily, studiously memorizing the beige carpet.
"Maybe I will take that tea." He spoke tiredly. With an aged but informed smirk, Mrs. Figg stood and tottered to the kitchen. She returned a few minutes later with a tray of tea and biscuits. Harry poured her a cup and thanked her, taking his own cup afterward. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, the Squib broke the quiet between the two.
"So yeh've come to visit me," she began, giving Mr. Tibbles a biscuit. Harry sipped his tea and nodded.
"I guess I needed to talk to someone who at least acknowledges the wizarding world," he revealed. "And it is terribly warm outside." Mrs. Figg snorted.
"Warm?" she queried disbelievingly. "Sitting in fire, that's warm. This is hell." Harry chuckled politely and munched on a buttery biscuit.
"Here, here."
"So, besides that, what's on with yeh? No one visits me 'less it's 'portant." She spoke through a mouthful of buttery biscuits. Harry aimlessly shrugged.
"Been a slow day. Nothing about. Dursleys are having a relatively normal day. And I was just thinking," the boy nabbed another biscuit.
"About?" He shrugged again.
"The past few years." He answered. "What with everything that has happened—"
"The ol' coot announcin' the return of You-Know-'Oo, turnin' heads. That's sure to oust 'im out o' office," Mrs. Figg ranted bitterly. Harry smirked.
"I didn't think that he would affect you that much, since you are…well, a Squib." He stated. She nodded jerkily.
"Oh, he affects me, all right." Her aged eyes swiveled around her sitting room, much slower than Mad-Eye Moody's magical one. "Anyone wi' a magic family, e'en though yeh be non-magic, yerself. Squibs are all registered, yeh know." Thinking of all the Squibs he had ever come across, Harry was suddenly struck with a thought.
"Mrs. Figg, have you ever tried the Kwikspell instructional?" Her searching eyes finally fell on him in disbelief.
"Course not," she shot down. "Waste o' galleons and ne'er works." She grasped her teacup and sipped some of the hot liquid. Finishing her tea and pulling out an old, brown album, frayed at the edges, she looked expectantly at the Boy-Who-Lived. "Got some new photos yeh haven't seen before." The young wizard genuinely smiled blissfully. After a bout of directionless conversation and tea, he didn't mind spending the afternoon with crazy Mrs. Figg and an album of felines anymore.
ooooo
The hour was late and Harry had finally left the confines of Mrs. Figg's. They had spent the afternoon drinking tea and talking mainly about the wizarding world. Harry was glad he could talk freely for once, and joined Mrs. Figg in her verbal bashing of Minister Fudge.
The sky had grown considerably darker, with vibrant hues of gold, pink and violet painting the dusky atmosphere exotically. The air was still hot with the burning heat of the day, settling uncomfortably around the gangly young wizard. Harry noticed the park was empty now, the swings hanging still, lonesome-looking without the merry children flying back and forth. Just as he turned on Privet Drive, he spotted a few people in the distance on racing bikes. He didn't bother to get a closer look. He had an intense doubt Voldemort and his Death Eaters would ever deliberately assault him on Muggle bicycles, though he was pleased to divulge, the visual was rather amusing.
Crossing the sunburned and parched lawn of Number Four, Harry hopped over the low garden wall stealthily, bending down behind the hydrangeas. He carefully sat back under the window and checked to make sure his wand was still with him. The evening news flowed from the thankfully ajar window, the anchorwoman going on about the drought and the chance for rain in the next week or so. The young wizard heard his uncle complain something about his wilting lawn, and his aunt grouse about her dry flowers. He hadn't heard whining, which meant his cousin was still out. Smoking and even drinking, no less. Dudley had his parents so delusional with his lies about practicing with Piers, that Harry knew they would buy it the second the words left his piggy mouth.
Harry heard the creak of a chair and the padding of loafers across the living room floor. Looking at his watch, he noted it was nearly dinnertime, and Dinky Diddydums never missed a meal. Perchance, Uncle Vernon was to call him on the new cellular phone he had bought for his son as an early birthday gift. He didn't bother to figure out the exciting mystery and stood up for a few minutes, surveying the quiet street lying before him. Streetlights were dimly lit and illumining the cracked pavement below. Harry could just make out a few fifth graders trudging down the street, looking around them cautiously. He suddenly remembered there might have been an Order member following him around all day, but he hadn't heard any apparating cracks all day. Furtively gazing around him, Harry took one last look at the road and went to the front door, opening it and entering.
He lumbered past the living room and up the stairs without either of his relatives' acknowledgement. It was all the same, since he didn't much care for them either. Once on the landing, Harry wrinkled his nose at a few of the unmoving portraits of Dudley adorning the prim, floral wall, and went to his second bedroom. Luckily, the Dursleys hadn't bothered to lock him in at all during the summer, unless they were headed for something important. Closing the door silently behind him, Harry kicked a pile of dirty clothing from the middle of the room and dropped a few forgotten textbooks into his trunk. He locked his trunk and pushed it aside, finally falling on top of his unmade bed. The springs barely creaked at his flimsy weight, and conformed to his figure. His window was wide open, in case any owls needed to deliver anything, and he could distantly hear the neighbors of Number Six laughing below him.
Raising himself on his elbows, Harry noted Hedwig was not in her cage. A fluttering of wings brought his attention to the window, and through the opening, Hedwig dropped a letter by Harry's legs and landed in her cage. Quirking his brows, Harry pulled himself up, grabbed the letter and settled against his headboard. He recognized Hermione's neat writing instantly, and opened the parchment to hear what his friend had to say.
Harry,
How are things? It's been decidedly languid here. Mum and father have been spending late nights at the dentistry, so I've been here mostly with Crookshanks. I haven't heard anything new from the 'assembly;' mind you, they wouldn't exactly tell us students what was really going on, without diluting it greatly.
I haven't received my O.W.L.s yet. I'm really nervous. I reviewed all of my notes and I truly don't think I did very well.
At this Harry snorted. The day Hermione didn't do very well is the day he and Lucius Malfoy became the best of friends. Or, he was so bold to venture, Voldemort and he called a truce on an account of a budding friendship. Not bloody likely.
To pass time, I've finished all my summer work ("Figures." Harry mumbled), and I've created a N.E.W.T. study guide for all of my classes, spanning first year to fifth year. I think it will really help me get a better grade. I hope you've at least started your work, or created a guide. It helps, you know.
I haven't heard from Ron in a few days, but I asked him to ask his mother if you and I could spend the rest of the summer over there. Mrs. Weasley said she'd ask the headmaster. Other than that, nothing truly big has been happening in the wizarding world, from what I gather. Seldom Death Eater attacks on minor things, but no one's gotten hurt. But I heard a school was destroyed; not the work of evil, but then again, I'm not sure. Hopefully I'll see you soon. If not, we'll keep writing each other.
Love From,
Hermione
So, she was also having an uneventful summer. This eased Harry's mind a bit, and he jumped off his bed. He crossed the room to his desk quickly and sat down. Not only did he need to write Hermione, but he needed to get his Order letter sent, too. Hedwig was tearing at the legs of a dead frog, but Harry wasn't at all fazed. Nearly six years with his 'overgrown pigeon,' as his uncle often fondly referred to her, and he was immune to her choice in wild delicacies. He pulled out a few sheets of parchment and a quill, along with his inkbottle, and began to write the Order first. It was the easiest, as well as the shortest, and he set out to his task.
Remus,
How are you? All is well here. I'm keeping out of trouble, so you all should be thrilled. Hope everything's thrilling on your side.
Harry
Folding the parchment, he set it aside and set to work on Hermione's. She had written a great deal, and a two-sentence response would definitely alert her to something. Yawning, he put his quill to work.
Hermione,
Everything here is all right. Boring, but it usually is. I'm glad to hear you are all right. And trust me, you did fine on your O.W.L.s. You are, of course, the cleverest witch of our year, which you hear almost every day at school.
I have done one essay, and I'll do the rest in the next few days. The way things are moving out here, I may even finish reading all of our textbooks before the end of the week. I visited a Squib in my neighborhood a few hours ago. It felt good to talk about magic freely, for once.
Maybe we'll see each other in the next few weeks. If not, see you on the train.
Harry
Sighing, he signed his name quickly and folded Hermione's letter. Just as he was about to get up and head downstairs for supper, a feathery tennis ball darted into the room, zooming about insanely.
"Pig!" he exclaimed silently. He had a time trying to catch Ron's tiny owl in the air, a letter clutched in his beak. Hedwig hooted crossly in her cage and narrowed her bright amber eyes. After five minutes of chasing, ending in him gently tossing the owl in his bird's cage, Harry opened the letter from his best friend.
Harry,
How's it faring, mate? Nothing eventful happening here. Mum and dad say hello. And Ginny, Fred and George. Summer's been incredibly boring. I practice on my Clean Sweep every day to get better at goalkeeping. Ginny is my chaser, and she's really good. I reckon that ban's off of you now, since Umbridge is gone. So, you're probably still seeker. Since Angelina and Alicia left, you've only got Katie. Ginny can be chaser now, and I don't know if Sloper and Kirke will remain beaters.
Hermione's just sent me a note saying she's finished her holiday work. Typical Hermione. Of course, I haven't started, so I expect to on the train on our way back to Hogwarts. Mum's asked Dumbledore if you could stay over, and he's said later, but at least you'll be here. How are your relatives treating you now? Have they taken to Mad-Eye's threat?
Fred and George's shop is doing really well. I heard from Lee Jordan they're going to open a shop in Hogsmeade! They'll probably put Zonko's out of business with the way they're going. Mum's proud they're doing so well, and they've bought her and dad a nice set of robes. They're putting most of the money in the family vault, so they can support us. Mum and dad refused, but they insisted. Real nice of them. I reckon we'll be competing with the Malfoys, now.
I'll see you later in the summer. Don't let the Muggles get to you.
Your Friend,
Ron
Harry sniggered at Ron's inane comments and his last statement. He knew Fred and George were the best pranksters since his father's friends, and he wouldn't doubt it if they did surpass the Malfoys in wealth. He rapidly scribbled a lengthy response to Ron and set the excitable Pigwidgeon on his way back to the Burrow.
"Now, girl." He began with Hedwig. "I want you to send this to the Order, then Hermione. If she wants you to wait for a response, wait, all right?" he spoke in a no-nonsense tone. Hedwig hooted in understanding, and Harry rolled the scrolls and attached it to her talon. With one last stroke, Hedwig was on her way to London. The Hogwarts student sighed once more and looked out the window. The residents of Number Six were speaking loudly now, but Harry ignored them and began to clean his room. He hadn't felt like cleaning much, only Hedwig's cage every now and then. Piling dirty clothes in one corner and stuffing his trunk with clean garments, Harry moved onto the books strewn about his room. The young wizard longed for the day when he could use magic liberally to clean his room in seconds.
After stacking his books neatly on his desk, Harry heard the muffled sound of the front door closing. That'd be Big D, he thought casually to himself. The emerald-eyed male exited his room and flopped noiselessly down the steps.
As he entered the kitchen, he noted the dinner consisted of waning salad and dry roast for dinner. Roast mutton from Hogwarts seemed so far away, right about now.
His relatives were already seated at the table, Dudley easily taking one full side for himself, his father, the other, and Petunia's toothpick figure seeming drastically out of place across the empty side. No one spoke or acknowledged Harry's presence as he sat on the free side of the table, kindly pulling two leaves of lettuce and an arid slice of roast on his plate. Dudley and Vernon took most of the salad and roast, whereas his aunt took a leaf from Harry's book and had few things on her salver. Dinner was eaten in a glacial silence, despite the scorching heat breezing through the house. Harry could tell it was going to be a long summer.
"What's with you, boy?" his uncle started. "Met another one of those dismembers?" Harry raised a thick, dark eyebrow at his uncle, until he realized what he meant. Did his uncle actually care about his well-being? This was odd.
"No, Uncle Vernon." He answered as nicely as he could. He didn't want to start a confrontation this early in the summer. "Just thinking." Dudley snorted into his water, and Vernon's rolls shook with mirth. Harry glared. "Yes, Dudley, I can think. Unlike you."
"Now, see here, boy," Vernon shook a sausage-like finger in his face. "You'll not be disrespecting my son under my roof." Harry nodded nonchalantly and waved him off. Back to normal, then, he bitterly thought
"Yeah, yeah, heard it before." The boy expressed in an annoyed tone. "Never back talk to Dinky Dudders, I know." The boy wizard stood from his seat and washed his dishes as Vernon began to blubber in rage, his face changing interesting shades of puce. Harry nodded unflappably in smugness, heading for the steps as Vernon continued to yell at him from the dinner table.
Ah, yes. A long summer.
ooooo
A beaming Ron and Hermione waved at him excitedly, surrounded completely by snow. The raven-haired wizard walks back in, waving along with them, his bright green eyes clearly visible through all the black he wore.
The day had been freezing cold. Everyone had bundled up for a trip on the grounds, throwing snowballs at each other, or transfiguring large branches into sleds, taking to the fresh powder. If he looked closely in the background, he could see Neville Longbottom getting knocked to the ground by Seamus' sled. It was a fun day. Nice and icy.
Not so on Privet Drive.
Harry sighed at the photograph taken before last Christmas, wishing to feel the icy breeze he cursed that day. But it wasn't so bad in the living area in his house. It was much cooler than outside. He didn't feel like sulking in his room, and he found it quite difficult to brood in the volcanic heat outside. His uncle was off at work, and his aunt declared she would be with her garden club all day. All he had was Dudley, but that didn't prove exciting. Dudley would probably be heading out with his friends in a while anyway. Right on cue, a set of rolling thunder could be heard tumbling down the stairwell. Harry didn't pay attention to his cousin and continued staring at his album. He felt considerably warmer when he noticed a large shadow hovering over him.
"Who are those people?" he sneered. "And why would they hang with you?"
"They're called friends, Big D." Harry leered as if talking to a four-year-old. "I'm sure you call your acquaintances goons or something of the like." Dudley scrunched his face in disgust at the moving pictures, paling quickly.
"They move."
"Good boy. Sorry I don't have a treat for you."
"Shut up, Potter." He jeered. "What'd you do?" Harry looked at him curiously. He had only been sitting on the chair thumbing through an album. What could he have done in two seconds?
"Meaning?"
"Come now, you had to have done your abnormality to make them move like that!" he exclaimed. "I'm telling dad!"
"All pictures in my world move," he stated matter-of-factly. "Nothing ever sits still." Dudley narrowed his eyes and left him alone, which he was grateful for. He slammed the front door behind him and left the Gryffindor by himself. Harry sorted through his captured memories once more and yawned. He was dead tired, and his scar prickled somewhat. The boy hadn't gotten any sleep the night before, due to the heat. Since the house was quiet, he figured now would be as good a time as any for a nap. Shutting his album and racing up the steps, Harry shut his door, set the photos aside and hopped in bed. Feeling the warmth and softness of the pillow, Harry was lulled to sleep by the stillness of nature outside his window.
ooooo
He could make out the fuzzy bright light aching to burst from behind the drawn drapes. The room was dark, aged dust clinging to the objects in the room like its life depended on it. The blackened hearth before him swirled seductive smoke from its dying embers, making the room smell like burnt cloth. His skeletal, alabaster fingers idly played with a long, slender wand, while his other hand gripped the arm of the elegant wooden chair impatiently. Crimson eyes took in the filthy state of the room, which other than the armchair, contained a moth-eaten auburn rug covering most of the room, a few more dusty armchairs, and a grimy display case. The glass windows were cracked and broken in certain parts, but it could be salvaged. Thick, wooden doors across from him opened with a groan, and a shivering figure clad in dark robes, approached him, his face covered, and his whimpering audible. A silver hand could be seen clasping a flesh-colored one, and the sputtering man stumbled before him.
He knelt before the man and kissed the hem of his robes. He could barely taste the fear in the room the plump man brought.
"M-M-Master," he stuttered. He rose a few seconds later, drops of sweat falling from below the hood.
"Have you discovered anything yet?" a high, cold voice emitted from Harry's throat.
"M-My lord, w-w-we are looking," he stammered. "I-It seems these p-p-particular weapons are h-hard t-t-to come b-by." Hot anger coursed through his veins.
"You've been searching for weeks. And you tell me, you've come up with nothing?" the harsh voice of Harry bellowed. "You've not been looking deeper or far enough!" The round man flinched and Harry caught a glimpse of his rat-like face.
"N-None in the world of w-wizards holds the sword or scepter, m-m-master. W-We have searched every p-p-possible place." He faltered. Harry narrowed his blood-red eyes.
"Evidently, not every place."
"M-Master, we m-may have f-f-found someone who could assist us," he spluttered quickly. This was intriguing.
"And why have you not contacted this person?" he was very annoyed, and twirled his wand in frustration. The dark-robed man paled.
"It is v-v-very d-d-difficult to c-contact him," he nearly cried. "As he d-does not l-live pr-precisely on the planet." Harry felt his eyebrows rise.
"You are saying…?" he began unbelievingly.
"Y-Yes, master." He calmed down as Harry smiled wickedly.
"This is very good, Wormtail," he commented. "You've done well."
"Th-thank you, m-m-master." He sighed.
"Find a way to contact him. Let him know, we are interested in alliances." Voldemort ordered. "Dismissed." Wormtail strenuously walked out of the room, glad not to have been tortured. Voldemort went back to whirling his wand, a feeling of happiness and contentment working its way through his body.
Some thousand miles away, Harry's scar seared across his forehead and he woke up with a painful scream.
A/N: Revised chapter. So don't sue me….