Author: Black Knight

Author email: JonathonCottrell@aol.com
Category: action/adventure/romance

Rating: R, Harry and the gang are all teenagers now, and will be acting accordingly
Summary: Harry finds something out about his past, the reason Voldemort wanted him killed as a baby, assassins are hired, and a young red haired witch has her dreams come true.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Authors Notes: I am definitely a H/G-R/Hr shipper, so that's what this'll be, as always, fear for your sanity, and major bodily organs, before reading any further.

Spoilers: first 4 books of Canon.

Chapter 1-Nightmares

Knowledge is power, hide it well

From the outside, number 4, Privet drive looks exactly as Vernon and Petunia Dursley want it to look like, a perfectly ordinary house, with perfectly ordinary people.

Vernon Dursley is a big, beefy man, with no neck and a bushy mustache, who owns and manages a company called Grunnings, which makes drills.

His wife, Petunia Dursley, is a tall woman, with an extremely long neck, slightly horse faced, she is extremely nosy, and spies on the people that live in number two and number six constantly, having nothing better to do as a house wife.

Their only son, Dudley, is an incredibly fat boy, his incredible bulk stopping him from wearing any cloths smaller that XXXL, and even then it's a tight fit, since he weighs roughly the same as the average baby elephant.

As such, to the casual observer, the forth person that lives in this house is a persona non grata, Vernon and Petunia's one and only nephew, a green eyed, raven haired young man, a young man who the three other occupants of the house fear and despise, and take great pleasure in making his life more miserable with each passing second.

The young boy in question is Harry Potter, and, compared to his relatives, he is abnormal, because he's a wizard, even compared to other wizards, for nothing more than a simple scar plastered across his forehead, reaching from the tip of his eyebrow to his hairline in one jagged line.

This scar is a relic of the night his parents were killed, a permanent brand of his uniqueness, and a permanent reminder of how his parents were killed.

His parents were killed when he was barely older than one, on Halloween, by the most powerful dark wizard of our age, Tom Marvolo Riddle, AKA Lord Voldemort, The scar is the only mark he had received when Voldemort, having killed Lily and James Potter, had turned his wand on the infant Harry and performed a curse that had killed numerous fully grown men and women, both wizards and muggles without a single hitch, yet, because of his mothers sacrifice to save him, the curse was rebounded.

Voldemort, his corporeal form damaged beyond repair, he went into hiding for ten years, only to be thwarted again by an eleven year old Harry when trying to steal the Philosophers stone from Hogwarts and use it to restore himself to power, causing him to retreat into hiding for another two years, until one of his more cowardly followers returned to him, and he was returned to full power using Harry's blood.

Right now Harry is lying on his bed in the smallest bedroom of Number 4 Privet Drive, a lit torch resting gently on his chest as he read from a thick, leather bound tome, the legend, Four thousand years of Wizarding history in smooth golden writing across the front.

He hardly notices that the time's just after half past one, as he finishes the last sentence of the most complex History of magic assignment he has ever had (explain, in your own words, what was the main catalyst for the Goblin rebellion of 1544-1552).

Carefully blowing over the parchment to dry the ink to dry it, Harry hears a quiet hoot from the window, jus before Hedwig zooms in past the open windows, landing gently at the foot of the bed, an envelope in her beak.

"Hedwig, thank god your back, I was starting to get worried" says Harry, as Hedwig drops the envelope and heads for her cage for a drink.

Harry had sent Hedwig to Sirius Black(his godfather) with a letter, telling him about his nightmares, that had been two weeks ago, and he was worried, not for Hedwig's sake, because she's smart enough to stay out of trouble, but for Sirius'.

He was so worried because Sirius is on the run from magical law enforcement, and had to hide out in a foreign, tropical, country (to judge by the large, colorful birds that delivered Sirius' letters to Harry) because he had been wrongfully convicted of murder of thirteen people(12 muggles and one wizard), and whenever it took him a long time to reply, Harry always thought he'd been caught.

Harry

I'm sorry Harry, I can't do anything to stop your nightmares, but you can't block them out, if you try it can cause your magic to act up, and you can't afford that, I can, however, listen, if you want to talk to someone, I'm always here for you.

If you need to talk to me, send an owl to Moony, he'll know where I am.

Love

Snuffles

Frowning slightly, Harry puts the parchment back into it's envelope, and tosses it into his open trunk, just before getting hit in the side of the head by a grey, feathery tennis ball, or, something that felt very familiar to getting hit it the head by a grey, feathery tennis ball.

It turned out to be Pig, carrying a letter from Ron.

Picking the small roll of parchment up of the floor and rubbing his head, Harry looks up at pig, the small dust colored owl flying in tight circles around the small light fixture in the middle of the room.

Looking at the roll, he notices that it's been shut with a red wax seal, with an image pushed into it, a single oval, pulled lengthways, with three W's in the middle of it.

Breaking the seal with the tip of his thumb, Harry unrolls the parchment and read Ron's messy scrawl.

Dear Harry

Guess what Mate?, Dumbledore's been over here since the holiday started, putting charms and stuff on the whole town, and he says he's finished, you get to come here mate, for the rest of the holidays, Bill's going to come pick you up on Thursday, at 5pm.

By the way, rather than send you all the stuff for your birthday, Mum says you're gonna have a belated birthday here instead, Herm knows too, so she's sent your present here since she'll be in France for afew more weeks, and won't be able to give it you in person.

See ya Thursday

Ron

This letter makes Harry feel infinitely better than the one from Sirius, the Weasley's (seven children, two adults, three owls, a garden full of gnomes, and no money) are Harry's favorite people, he's glad he can get away from the Dursleys for a bit, and he's going to have a proper birthday for once, no Dursleys to spoil it, no carrot sticks for breakfast, just his friends and well wishers.

Glancing at the clock, Harry notices that it's 2 AM, and that he's so exhausted he's re-read the same word in his history book five times, and decides to go to sleep.

*

He's running through a dark maze, dark green hedges raising up into the inky black sky, the stars twinkling in the cloudless night, like diamonds on black velvet, the light of the full moon making mere shadows look like things of nightmare.

Walking past the monsters in the maze, the skrewt, the acromantular, the sphinx, all with glowing red eyes, and fangs dripping blood.

Heading down the dark path, screams of pain from the other champions in the maze, Fleur and Krum, as one by one they are knocked out of the running.

After afew minutes of frantic searching, his heart beating almost painfully loud in his chest, Harry finally finds Cedric and the cup in the center of the maze, trying to stop Cedric from getting to the cup first, but being a second too late, and grabbing it at the same time as him.

As soon as his fingers brush against the smooth metal of the cup, he feels a familiar tugging sensation just behind his navel, and the world vanishes in a whirlwind of shapes and colours.

When the colours settle, he lands painfully on the floor, his wounded leg buckling under him.

Looking around, he sees he's surrounded by grave stones, their chipped and eroded surfaces jutting up silently, each one a memorial to the extinguished sparks of life.

Pulling out his wand shortly after Cedric does, he turns and gets a glimpse of someone waddling through the darkness towards them, before the dull throb in his scar, turns into blinding pain, making his eyes water and obscuring his vision before he clamps them shut, trying to block out the pain.

A voice hisses "kill the spare", before a flash of green light and a rushing sound herald Cedric's death.

He lies there spread eagle, his grey eyes staring blankly into space.

Miles away, just outside the sleeping village of Ottery St. Catchpole, a girl in one of the rooms of a seven story house wakes up from her nightmare with a scream.