Disclaimer: I own nothing. It'd be nice though.
Chapter 1: Reminiscing
Privet Drive was burning. 'Apathy is a curious thing', Harry Potter-Black thought to himself absentmindedly. The call had come in to Grimmauld Place less than ten minutes ago, and now the group of twenty stood in the middle of the street; right in the middle of his own childhood nightmare. 'Flames have brightened things up a bit…'
Sometime after 5th year, in a coup orchestrated by Sirius, and a flat-out ultimatum given by Harry himself, Dumbledore had finally pulled his head out of his arse and ended the chess master act. The goblins told him about some interesting discrepancies in his accounts. This, as well as the revelations come to, about not only Dumbledore but his "friends" too, during his occlumency sorting, resulted in a mean independent streak and a summer change that had Hogwarts doing a double-take the next year. The bridges were burnt, but Harry was no longer as naïve as he once was.
He had taken the time to travel and grow up. The bastards were loathe to let him leave, but Harry was quick to just tell them to fuck off and look appreciatively at the freshly signed emancipation papers in his hands. Hell, the way he saw it, that thrice-damned prophecy was a get out of jail free card in life threatening situations that were unrelated to the Dark Lord. So, everyone parted ways at the bank; Hermione looking contrite and depressed, Ron guilty, Mrs. Weasley disapproving, and Harry with nary a glance back.
He showed up on September 1st three months later half a foot taller, more muscular, sporting a slight tan, in tailored robes, with a decidedly more confident and dangerous air about him, and a smirking Daphne Greengrass on his arm.
Needless to say there were mixed reactions.
After that things went smoothly, for Harry at least. The rest needed a few preconceptions shattered, but once they were, Harry and the others were finally able to develop a working relationship and move forward again.
And so, eventually, things got moving back into some semblance of normalcy, at least as far as it is able to in the life of the raven haired now-19-year-old. Hermione got up the nerve to ask what the runes that started at his wrist and wound around his arm were. Mrs. Weasley frowned at some of his new scars (luckily she only saw the ones from the dueling tournaments). Best of all, Dumbledore inquired about his training and knowledge. Then he offered to expand it. After he had gone through Filius, Minerva, Mad Eye, Kingsley, Moony, Snape, and (unknown to all but Snape) Tom Riddle in a roundabout-mind-connection sorta way. Yeah, he made out like a bandit. Not that he hadn't had a myriad of instructors over five continents during the time manipulated eight month summer, but still. It's Dumbledore; the man is a legend for a reason.
So, now, here he was. Four years after the battle at the Department of Mysteries and that emotion-fuelled summer, here he was standing outside the place that was his "home" for fifteen years, trying to muster up some kind of feeling.
"Harry Potter….." The words were whispered, but as if by magic, carried through the chaos and down the street. Harry snapped his head up, heart rate increasing, time seeming to slow. Out of the shadows stepped the man -no, monster- who had defined Harry's existence since he was a year old. Behind him, sat cowered and whimpering the three Dursleys, broken and bloody but amazingly still alive.
Most of the Inner Circle stepped out along the street forming an eerie macabre procession up to their Lord. Shiny silver masks glinted in the setting sun, even all four lieutenants accented in black and gold. They really had gone all out sacking the Ministry and killing Minister Scrimgeour along with three Department Heads. Nineteen Order of the Phoenix members moved to meet them.
Dead silence.
The whole debacle had been touch and go for the first two years, and continued to be slight skirmishes in the shadows. No longer was the "peace" to last. In the coming months those of the affected generation would develop quite a morbid sense of humor, they would have to in order to stay sane. The common joke would go something along the lines of "remember when we would only have to worry about the occasional strange disappearance; those were the good ole days!"
Voldemort stepped into the street and drew his wand. Yew and Phoenix feather, one of two. Simple, but a very deadly combination; a fact the people of England could attest to. The rest of those fighting on both sides cleared out of the middle of the street, they knew better than to interfere by now. Those that got in between the two archmages wound up dead.
Harry focused his mind, channeling just the right amount of adrenaline and reflex into his body. Controlled chaos is what it was, no doubt about it. Twin flicks of the wrist and two wands appeared in his hands, and in that moment all was right in his world. Peace is what he strove for, true, but Harry Potter-Black was a fighter, born and bred. In his left, Holly and Phoenix feather, one of two. Familiar, warm, comforting. And powerful, very very powerful. In his right, crafted just for him and blood-bonded underneath an infamous back alley store in Moscow, Granadillo with a core of Cerberus hair suspended in the blood of an Ala demon. Energizing and reassuring. And deadly, oh so very deadly.
Harry was smiling now. Bringing his Holly wand up before him a few advanced shields in mind, he dropped into his own personal dueling stance with his Granadillo wand at shoulder height and retracted to just under his chin ready to throw any number of dangerous spells, whatever the situation may call for.
The Dark Lord almost always started with something amazingly painful, and obscure. Perhaps a Peruvian Disembowelment Hex? By now Harry could just read him like that, something that pissed Bella off to no end. 'Heh, at least I annoy her, it's something I suppose'.
Driving the last distractions from his mind Harry took a deep breath, swiveled a bit, and locked eyes with his opponent.
With a vicious flick Voldemort sent a bright orange light careening his way. Half a step to the side and twist, a dueling shield to deflect the banisher on the tail of the first, use the momentum to turn and bring his Granadillo wand to bear and scream 'Pyrus Impactus' in his head. As Voldemort dove out of the way of the fiery bludgeoner, Harry thought 'hmm…Romanian asphyxiator'.
The war had begun.