Disclaimer: It's not mine and you know it.

A/N: I'm back and I've totally re-written this fic, and this time it's actually going to be good. Yay me! I hope I get as many reviews as I did for the last time I tried to write this fic, or maybe more *hinthint*

Well, here goes.

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate by the way.

The Death of the Dursleys

(Redone Edition)

Chapter One

Cleaning up

Harry Potter grimaced as he picked up the dirty tissue from the ground. He placed it into a black plastic bag and moved onto another part of the garden. The Dursleys had forced him to clean up after a barbecue to celebrate Dudley's 15th birthday, even though the party had been held on his birthday, as the two were so close. Of course, the Dursleys hadn't remembered that it was Harry's birthday, they never did.

Harry returned to his task, knowing that if he didn't do it, it would probably mean bars on his window again. He didn't want that, and he also didn't want Ron getting into more trouble for stealing flying cars or something like that. So Harry did his chores like a good boy, cleaning up after all his cousins friends, some of whom, like Dudley, weighed more than a herd of elephants put together, and they ate twice as much as those elephants.

It wasn't the greatest way to spend a birthday, but Harry didn't have a choice. Ever since Voldemort had risen, Dumbledore had prevented Harry from staying at the Burrow, the house of his best friend, Ron Weasley. At least Dumbledore let Harry's post come, and he had already received two cakes from Mrs. Weasley, a number of other small food parcels from Mrs. Weasley and Hermione, a book called "Getting the Best from your Broomstick" by F. L. Young from Hermione, a glasses case with dragons on the front from Hagrid, a book on fighting technique from Sirius and a strange contraption from Ron. Ron had enclosed a note saying that he would explain what this thing was after summer, and it was just one of the countless reasons why Harry Potter, the 15 year old wizard, wanted to go back to school.

The letter from Hogwarts had also arrived, clearly stating that all pupils would be thoroughly checked before entering the school for dark objects, and that any pupils found with such objects would be asked to leave immediately. This was obviously for the safety of the pupils and staff of Hogwarts, but for Harry, all this letter did was remind him of the death of Cedric Diggory, fellow triwizard champion.

Harry was still shaken by all that had happened to him the previous school year, but slowly he had recovered and his nightmares about Voldemort had become rarer and rarer. Still the memories of all that had occurred came back to him occasionally, and Harry found himself wondering if he would make it to the end of his school career. From his first year, and the whole case about the Philosopher's Stone, to the events last year, and the rising of Voldemort, Harry now knew that this year would still have horrors in store. However, he never lost hope that one day his life would be normal, or as normal as the life of a 15-year-old world-famous wizard can be.

* * *

The pale hand lifted the hood from its face. In the darkness all that could be seen were two brilliant points of light, and they stayed in one spot, not moving, not twitching. Suddenly, they turned and the whole place lit up in light. The sources of the two points of red light were eyes. The eyes stared from a face so resembling a snake for a person that was human. The eyes stared directly at a small man tied up in chains, lying on the floor.

"Get up!" hissed a voice from face with the red eyes. The face of Voldemort, the most evil man since Grindewalde the wizard. (A/N: sorry, can't remember if that's spelt right)

"Please, your greatness," said the cowering man. "I know nothing of the whereabouts of the boy. All I know is that he is protected, and you will not harm him. I do not know any more than what I tell you now."

"Are you sure?" asked Voldemort, the anger rising in his voice. "Crucio!" he shouted, then he walked out of the dull room, leaving the man screaming in agony.

***

The black bin bag dropped to the ground as Harry clutched his scar with both hands. The pain was incredible. And this was no headache. Quickly, Harry rushed to his room, and brought up the loose floorboard where his quill lay undisturbed since writing a thank-you note to Ron the night before. Harry grabbed the quill and a piece of blank parchment and he hurried over to his desk. There he settled in his chair and began to write in hurried handwriting. He began with the words:

"Dear Sirius"

***

A/N: I know, it is quite short, but this is way longer than what I used to write. But I suppose you can call this a prologue. PLease review, it would be greatly appreciated and I'll try and answer any questions you have. I just want to say that this fic will follow the same plot (or mostly) as the last time I wrote this, but some things will obviously change. Thank you!

~W.S.L.~