Who must not be named, a harry potter fanfic

Hello fans of Harry Potter fan fics. This idea for a story sort of just popped into my mind one day and then I told my love (also a writer of super fine fanfics) about the idea and she said "it sounds like a good start." So today at work (summer job at a stupid fan factory, go figureanyhow) I furthered the plot and put like neat philosophy into it and stuff (plus more than likely yoai, for those of you who need it ;p) Well, hope you enjoy it and I really hope I actually finish the thing this time. I'm horribly lazy...I'm surprised I even wrote this much extra crap at the beginning. Stupid keyboard! Ok, sorry...enjoy...

Chapter One - Salient Skies

A cloud passed in front of a high summer sun; far below it, black hair wove itself with pale green grass as a eight-teen year old Harry Potter took a quiet afternoon nap under a big oak tree.

It didn't seem to bother Harry too much that without the sun there was a slight chill to the air.

Harry laid where he was for quite some time, dosing on and off. More clouds passed over the sun.

It was Harry's second day of summer break. He was very glad to be away from school; from the strict teachers and the horrible students Harry thought he shouldn't have been sorted with. Worst of all about the school year was the fact that his Aunt, Petunia, found it necessary that she attend the same school as Harry. No other students had a parent watching over them, but Petunia's genuinely annoying persistence won her a room right beside Harry's at a school for criminally insane children. Harry, having a parent living with him, would have made it hard to fit in at any normal school, but Uncle Vernon insisted that Harry was a disgrace to society and would have to attend a school with the proper environment for enhanced development, so he ended up at Charley's Insane Institute for Insane Children; Aunt Petunia's boisterous influence did nothing for Harry's personal life. By the end of the third year Harry had only managed to make two friends; Jessie, a pyromaniac, and a potted plant at the east-end corridor. The plant potter and Harry were only friends because of the shear coincidence of similar last names but it didn't matter anyhow since Jessie burnt it down by the end of the first week.

Dark clouds began to take the sky above the now awake Harry Potter. Harry noticed that the air felt slightly oily, but also as if it was electrified. He decided to head back to number four private drive before the rain started. Harry always knew when it was going to rain.

Harry got to the door of the slim red house, opened it and slid into the livingroom.

'Where have you ben'...' hollered a well muscled, yet surprisingly pig-like blob from the living room couch. It was Dudley, Harry's bratty cousin, '...hair-ball!' Dudley added with what seemed like excruciating difficulty. Harry was actually impressed to think that Dudley could both link his long hair and his abbreviated name into one insult. Then again, thought Harry, he probably heard one of his friends say that to him earlier and needed time to collect his memory - thus explaining the disgustingly pitiful face of Dudley trying to think.

Harry looked into the livingroom to see what Dudley was watching. Dudley turned his head around and gave Harry an ugly look, which Harry mirrored, assuming correctly that it was a face enough to insult a boulder.

Of all the things Harry would have believed Dudley to be watching news was not one of them. But it seemed that Dudley was in fact watching news; he took an avid interest in the recent epidemic that killed people at random, and leaving no medical explanation of their death.

"Go away!" belted Dudley.

Out of shear conditioning Harry walked to the kitchen to make supper and do the dishes.

Both Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon sat on one side of the kitchen table, Harry knew this meant something bad was about to happen; he made an attempt to ignore them and walk to the sink, but Vernon caught Harry's slight glimpse.

'Potter...,' murmured uncle Vernon with a jolly-sadistic look about him. 'You can take a seat.'

Harry looked at the table.

'Now!' piped the purple mass of Vernon.

Harry jumped and quickly filled the empty chair across from his relatives.

In the few ominous minutes that Harry sat across from his two staring care-takers it began to storm outside. A crack of thunder let from the sky. Harry heard footstep run up the stairs and a door slam. His muscle bound cousin hated thunder storms, Harry laughed mentally. Unfortunately his mental humor gave away in his soft green eyes. Vernon was on him like a thing on another thing, say, a bowl on a table.

'You started this thunderstorm didn't you, Harry?' Vernon said pointing to the kitchen window.

'Umm...' Harry began.

'Listen, brat," Vernon pointed a torpedo of a finger at Harry, "both I and your Aunt know what kind of weird things you can do and we know that you made this storm 'appen.'

Harry thought, they were blaming him for a storm? 'Yes, I started the storm,' Harry said almost choking on the thickness of the sarcasm and flashing a defiant eyebrow. 'Can I go now?'

Uncle Vernon looked at Aunt Petunia, she stood up, walked around the kitchen table, went to the kitchen window and pulled up the vegetable-patterned curtains. 'Does this look like a normal storm to you?' she said in the most prissy tone she could probably muster.

A large dark orange cloud sat in the sky and let down blue coloured rain.

Harry looked at the large orange cloud that extended further than he could see from where he was sitting. He's admit it certainly was a curious site, and the Dursley's were right, Harry did seem to have a knack of attracting odd occurrences; he knew how they could have thought this was his fault at least.

'Sorry, I dunno...I didn't think I caused this...' Harry trailed off pleadingly.

'Hmff,' Vernon Hmffed, 'I suppose...don't do it again hmff...and go to your room!" added Vernon.

Harry got up from the chair, pushed it in, turned around and graciously walked to his room on the second floor. As far as he was concerned he avoided a lot of trouble.

Harry knew his uncle hated anything strange and especially hated anything to do with "hocus-pocus." They once went to a magical show; Vernon left 2 minutes into the show and was very angry at Harry when they arrived home.

Harry sat on the end of his bed and looked out at the tangerine-darkened sky, lightning quietly bolted through the clouds, thunder moaning a little while after. Blue water filled the streets as if painted by a three year old child. It was pretty quiet. Harry could hear Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia tin-like voices conversing from the kitchen air vent.

'You don't think he knows, do you?' Aunt petunia said raspily.

Vernon cleared his throat, 'I dunno...I doubt it.'

'Could someone tell him you think?'

'Listen,' Vernon said reproachfully, 'this conservation, about err...you-know..it makes me feel uneasy. It's not real Petunia; not for me" Vernon grabbed a pen from the table and shook it in his fist as if to exemplify the truth of reality or as least hold on to what little he thought he had left.

'Sorry' Petunia paused then put her hand onto the table, 'you know...it could become a reality someday Vernon, what then?'

'I,' Vernon stuttered and thought for a moment 'I'm not sure I could live with him...' he said hastily.

Aunt Petunia shot a look at Vernon, but surprisingly he was attempting a stare-out with the floor boards...presumably out of shame for what he had said...

Aunt Petunia reconsidered a good telling off and gave hugged Vernon. 'It's okay hun,' she said, 'we'll get to that bridge when we cross it I suppose.'

Harry was accustom to these little chats between his guardians. Every once in a while, and especially if anything out of the mundane happened there would be these conversations between his aunt and uncle. He wasn't sure exactly what they were talking about. Something Vernon was afraid of that was going to happen to either he or Dudley. Harry presumed they were talking about Dudley. He doubted a great deal Vernon or aunt Petunia would care if anything happened to him. Aunt Petunia seemed to want to face the problem and yet still acted reluctant. Harry put the conversation out of his mind, it didn't really matter anyhow. Nothing ever really changed in Harry's life. Harry laid back in bed and shut his eyes.

It was around one o'clock when Harry shot straight out of bed and onto the floor grasping at his forehead.

There had always been a strange "Z" mark on Harry's forehead and for as long as he could remember he'd had terrible headaches with no reason at all. Harry didn't think that the "Z" scar and the headaches had anything to do with each other, but grasped at the scar anyways.

The headache faded down to a irritable tingle. Harry could hear footsteps, some people were coming up the stairs; he wasn't sure how many; rain still patted at the window so he couldn't decipher the noise, but he guessed two. He thought it was probably Dudley and one of his friends, come home from a night of disgustingly large amounts of drinking and ready for the bed.

Harry took a chance of a look out the crack of his door.

He was right, it was two people, but neither of them a hulking dark mass that could easily command single-file lines in reasonably small corridors. Both shapes of the people were slim and very darkly clothed. Both wore something akin to ski masks and what looked to be bath robes.

A thought popped into Harry's head, rather inappropriately, wondering if the burglars were here to take a bath, then; 'HOLY CRAP! BURGLARS!' sprang to mind .

What do I do?

Hide under the bed...no...that's stupid...think! Harry grabbed his permanently messy and long hair.

I KNOW! Thought Harry, I'll...

That moment a loud Snap cracked from the hallway. Then another, and a voice with a pink flash.

Good old Aunt Petunia, thought Harry, keeping that cricket bat under their bed. But usually it didn't emit light upon a hit. Harry pondered this a little.

Harry could here the footsteps fade further from his door and down to Vernon. Maybe Aunt Petunia was going to get Vernon to call the police now, Harry thought.

Harry grabbed a heavy book from his desk and peeked out the door.

A body lay silent on the floor. It was also wearing a bathrobe, but it wasn't coloured black.

Aunt Petunia lay still on the hallway floor, cricket bat in hand, an expression of anger still residing on her pale face. She was dead.

Another voice, and POP!

A scream clawed at Harry's ears. The most horrible sound Harry had every heard. Like some sort of moose being attacked by a water cooler. He knew Vernon was dying...slowly and painfully.

Harry ran to the stairs.

"Hey!" shouted a voice from behind Harry. He looked around.

The figure stood tall at the end of the hall. It was unmasked, with blond hair and a sick smile cut under a smug nose.

Harry threw his book at the blond haired murderer and leaped down the stairs.

All was dark downstairs, but a little light from the mail slot at the door. The light fell unto another body. It was Dudley, looking as if ready to sleep, but much too peacefully. Harry climbed over the mass and indeed saw one of Dudley's friends, holding his hand, dead beside him.

Harry opened the door and ran into the soft rain. Tears welling in his eyes.