The Journey of a Dark Phoenix
Summary-
Harry Potter is the younger twin brother of Andrew Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, and the favorite nephew of their aunt and uncle. After a beating from his cousin and older brother, Harry meets a strange man that is invisible to everyone but him. The man takes Harry as his apprentice and teaches him the ways of a Dark Wizard. When the boys are thrusted into the Wizarding World at the young age of 11, Harry turns the Wizarding World upside down.
Chapter 1-
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of Number Four Private Drive, were very proud to say they were very normal. They believed that if you looked up the word 'normal' in the dictionary, that their picture would be next to it. They were the last people to be involved in magic or other strange things. Mr. Dursley was the boss of a drill firm called Grunnings. He was a huge, muscular man with hardly any neck with a large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde, and had twice the neck that most considered normal, a neck she used to look over fences to spy on neighbors. And their only son, who, in their opinion, could do no wrong.
The small family of three had everything, even a dark and dirty secret, and their greatest fear was that someone would discover it. They didn't think that they would be able to bear it if any one found out their dirty secret, if any one found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's younger half-sister, but they haven't meet in many years simply because Mrs. Dursley pretended that she didn't have a sister. And all because the Potters were not normal, they did magic. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had two young twin boys, Andrew and Harry, but have never met them. Andrew and Harry was their good reason for keeping the Potters away, they didn't want Dudley to mix with children like them.
When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on a normal, boring, and gray Thursday morning, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed a normal tune as he picked out his most normal and unexciting tie for work. Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she struggled a screaming Dudley into high-chair. None of them seemed to see a large, yellowish-brown owl flutter past the window, unusual and most abnormal.
At half past eight, like normal, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, kissed Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, like normal, and, like normal, tried to kiss Dudley goodbye but missed because Dudley was now having an outburst, as he normally would, and throwing his cereal at the walls. "Little tyke." Mr. Dudley chuckled, like he normally did, and left the house. He got into his car and backed out of Number Four's drive.
Suddenly he noticed an ordinary cat reading a map on the corner of the street which was the first sign, second if you count the owl the Dursleys failed to notice, of the abnormal. A second after seeing the cat, Mr. Dursley whipped his head around to look at the cat again. There was a normal tabby cat standing on the corner of Private Drive, but there was no map in sight. Mr. Dursley blinked and shook his head before staring at the cat, it stared back at him.
As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the street, he watched the cat in his mirror, it was now reading the sign the said 'Private Drive'- no, not reading, looking. The cat was looking at the sign that said 'Private Drive' because cats couldn't read maps or signs. Mr. Dursley shook his head again and put the reading cat out of his mind as he drove toward town and made himself think about a large order of drills he was hopping to get that day.
But when he got to the edge of the town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else, something abnormal. As he sat in the morning traffic jam, like he did every morning, he noticed that there were a lot of strangely dressed people walking and standing about. People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn't stand people who dress in funny clothes, clothes that were not normal. 'The get-ups on young people these days!' He thought as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, his eyes on a huddle of the weirdos standing close by speaking softly to each other. Mr. Dursley became angry when he saw that a couple of them weren't young at all, 'Why that man has to be older than me!' He thought glaring at an old man in an emerald green cloak, 'The nerve of him!' It then stuck him that these people were collecting something or doing silly stunts, they had to otherwise he wouldn't be able to accept it as normal. The Traffic moved on and a few minutes later Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind was now back on his drills.
Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor, and suddenly changing the way he sat would be abnormal. So, because he wasn't abnormal, he didn't see the owl swooping past in broad daylight, though the people down in the street did. They pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped over head, most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime.
Mr. Dursley had a perfectly normal morning, he yelled at five different people, one just for the hell of it, and made several important telephone calls and then shouted some more. He was in a very good and normal mood, and then lunch came around.
As he normally would at lunch, Mr. Dursley stretched his legs by walking across the street to buy himself a bun from the bakery. He had forgotten all about the people in the cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed them, they made him uneasy with their abnormal-ness. These bunches of abnormal people were whispering excitedly too, just like the ones from this morning, and he couldn't see a single collection tin.
It was on his way back from the bakers, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a bit of what they were saying as he passed them. "The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard-"
"Yes, their sons, Andrew and Harry-" Mr. Dursley stopped dead in his tracks, fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them about the Potters sons, but thought better of it and turned around and dashed back across the road. He hurried up to his office, bag still in his hand, and snapped at his secretary not to disturb him. Once in his office he seized his telephone and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He slowly put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache, while he sat down, thinking. He was being stupid.
Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a sons called Andrew and Harry. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure if either of his nephews were called Andrew or Harry. He'd never even seen the boys. It might have been Adam and Hanson, or Alexander and Henry. There was no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley; she always got so upset at any mention of her half-sister. He didn't blame her- if he'd had a half-sister like that.
Mr. Dursley found it a lot harder to focus on his drills that afternoon and when he left the building at five o'clock, like he normally did, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door. "Sorry," Mr. Dursley murmured as the tiny old man staggered and almost fell. It took a full three seconds before Mr. Dursley noticed that the old man was wearing a violet cloak, and he didn't seem to be upset at all. On the contrary, his face was split into a wide smile.
"Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today. Rejoice! For You-Know-Who is gone at last! Even Muggles like you should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!" The man said in a squeaky voice that made bystanders startled. The old man embraced Mr. Dursley around the middle before he walked off.
Mr. Dursley stood shocked to the spot, he had just been cuddled by a complete stranger and had been called a Muggle, what ever that was. He was distressed, this was not normal! He hurried to his car and set off for home, hopping he was imagining things, which was strange and abnormal because he didn't approve of imagination because it made people abnormal like that old man.
As he pulled into the driveway of Number Four, the first thing he saw was the normal tabby cat he had spotted reading-no looking at the 'Private Drive' sign that morning. It was sitting on his garden wall, he was sure it was the same do to the glasses like marking around its eyes. "Shoo!" Mr. Dursley said noisily, hopping it would scare the cat away. The cat didn't move, it just cave him a stern look as it reprimanding him. Trying to pull him self together, he let himself into the house and greeted his wife and son. He was determined to not mention anything about how abnormal his day was, or about the bit of conversation he over heard.
Mrs. Dursley had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner about Mrs. Neighbor's dilemma with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word. The word being "No" that he yelled every five minutes before laughing. Mr. Dursley smiled and tried to act normal after having such an abnormal day.
When Dudley had been put to bed, Mr. Dursley went into the living room to catch the last statement on the evening news. "Finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nations owls have been behaving weird today. There have been hundreds of sighting of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Specialists are unable to give explanations as to why the owls have suddenly altered their sleeping patterns." The newscaster allowed himself a smile, "Most mysterious. And now over to Jim McGuffey with the weather. Are there going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?"
"Well, Ted," The weatherman said, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting weird today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of rain that I promised yesterday, they had showers of shooting stars. Perhaps people are celebrating Bonfire Night early. Remember it's not due until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night."
Mr. Dursley sat in his armchair, eyes wide, face ashen, hand gripping the arm rests, and heart racing in fear. He whipped his head to look at Mrs. Dursley as she came in carrying two cups of tea and knew that he had to say something to her. He cleared his throat apprehensively, "Err, Petunia, dear, you haven't heard from your half-sister lately, have you?" As he estimated, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry, after all they normally pretended that she didn't have a half-sister.
"No," She said harshly taking a angry sip of her tea, "Why?"
"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley muttered, "Owls, showers of stars, and there were a lot of people wearing cloaks in town today."
"So?" Mrs. Dursley snapped.
"Well, maybe it was something to do with her crowd." Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name 'Potter.' He decided he didn't dare, instead he said, as casually as he could, "Their sons- they'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't they?"
"I presume so." Mrs. Dursley said stiffly.
"What's their names again? Howard and Alexander?"
"Andrew and Harry. Nasty, common names, if you ask me."
"Oh, yes," Mr. Dursley said, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree." He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there, it was staring down Privet Drive as though it were waiting for something. Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did, if it got out that they were related to a pair of- well, he didn't think he could bear it. The Dursleys got into bed, Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr. Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in his mind.
His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs. Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind. He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on- he yawned and turned over- it couldn't affect them. How very wrong he was.
Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of
Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.
A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed. Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.
Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something, but he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him as he chuckled before muttering, "I should have known."
He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket, it seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop, he clicked it again- the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the silver cigarette lighter, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the silver cigarette lighter back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.
"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall." He turned to smile at the tabby, but it was gone, instead he found himself smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun and she looked distinctly ruffled.
"How did you know it was me?" She asked.
"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."
"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," Professor McGonagall said sounding slightly annoyed.
"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here." Dumbledore said his eyes twinkling more than normal, as if he was laughing at a joke and Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.
"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," She said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no! Even the Muggles have noticed something's going on! It was on their news!" She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it, flocks of owls, shooting stars! Well, they're not completely stupid, they were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent, I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle, he never had much sense."
"You can't blame them," Dumbledore said gently, "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."
"I know that," Professor McGonagall said irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads! People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors!" She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all." She paused in her ranting to look at Dumbledore, "I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"
"It certainly seems so," Dumbledore said, "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"
"A what?" Professor McGonagall asked turning to look at him like he had lost his mind.
"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of" Dumbledore said popping a yellow candy into his mouth.
"No, thank you," Professor McGonagall said coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone-" She started.
"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You- Know-Who' nonsense, for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice, or chose to ignore her. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."
"I know you haven't," Professor McGonagall said sounding half exasperated and half admiring, "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort," She said rolling her eyes after Dumbledore gave her a look, "Was frightened of."
"You flatter me," Dumbledore said calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."
"Only because you're too, well, noble to use them."
"It's lucky it's dark, I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs." Dumbledore said, humor coating his voice. Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore.
"The owls are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?" Professor McGonagall asked. It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever 'everyone' was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer. "What they're saying," She pressed on, "Is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow, he went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are- are- that they're- dead. " Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped. "Lily and James- I can't believe it- I didn't want to believe it. Oh, Albus."Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder.
"I know, I know." He said heavily. Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on.
"That's not all, they're saying he tried to kill the Potter's eldest son, Andrew. But he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Andrew Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke- and that's why he's gone." Dumbledore nodded glumly. "It's- it's true?" Professor McGonagall asked faltering "After all he's done, all the people he's killed, he couldn't kill a little boy? It's just astounding, of all the things to stop him, but how in the name of heaven did Andrew survive?"
"We can only guess," Dumbledore said. "We may never know." Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch, it had twelve hands but no numbers, instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"
"Yes," Professor McGonagall said, "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"
"I've come to bring Andrew and his twin, Harry, to their aunt and uncle. They're the only family they have left now."
"You mean Harry survived too?" Professor McGonagall asked
"Only because Voldemort went after Andrew before going after Harry." Dumbledore said.
"And these Muggles are their relatives? You can't mean the people who live here?" Professor McGonagall cried jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore- you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son, I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Andrew and Harry Potter come and live here?!"
"It's the best place for them," Dumbledore said firmly. "Their aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to them when they're older. I've written them a letter."
"A letter?" Professor McGonagall repeated angrily, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand Andrew or Harry! Andrew'll be famous- a legend- I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Andrew Potter day in the future, there will be books written about Andrew, every child in our world will know his name!" Professor McGonagall all but yelled.
"Exactly," Dumbledore said, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all that until he's ready to take it?" Professor McGonagall opened her mouth to say something but changed her mind and swallowed.
"Yes- yes, you're right, of course. But how are the boys getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding both Andrew and Harry underneath it.
"Hagrid's bringing him." Dumbledore said and Professor McGonagall had to bite her tongue to stop yelling at him and asking him if he was crazy.
"You think it wise to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?" She asked
"I would trust Hagrid with my life." Dumbledore said.
"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," Professor McGonagall said grudgingly, "But you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to- what was that?" A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky- and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.
If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild, long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his gigantic, brawny arms he was holding two bundles of blankets.
"Hagrid," Dumbledore said sounding relieved, "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"
"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore," The giant said climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got them, sir."
"No problems, were there?" Dumbledore asked.
"No, sir. House was almost destroyed, but I got them out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. Andrew fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol." Hagrid said. Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over one the bundles of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.
"Is that where-?" Professor McGonagall whispered.
"Yes," Dumbledore said, "He'll have that scar forever."
"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?" Professor McGonagall asked as she took the other bundle of blankets and looked into the wide, curious emerald-green eyes of Harry Potter as he watched everyone and everything, almost as if he was analogizing everything he saw.
"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy, I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well, give him here, Hagrid, we'd better get this over with." Dumbledore took Andrew in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house, he motioned Professor McGonagall to follow him.
"Could I- could I say good-bye to them, sir?" Hagrid asked sounding as if was trying not to cry. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss before doing the same to Andrew. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.
"Shhh!" Professor McGonagall hissed, "You'll wake the Muggles!"
"S-s-sorry," Hagrid sobbed, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it- Lily an' James dead- an' poor little Andrew an' Harry off ter live with Muggles-"
"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm before following Dumbledore as he stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Andrew gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Andrew's blankets, and then took Harry from Professor McGonagall's arms and laid him next to his older twin brother before him and Professor McGonagall went back to Hagrid. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the two little bundle. Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gotten brighter.
"Well," Dumbledore said finally, "That's that. We've no business staying here, we may as well go and join the celebrations."
"Yeah," Hagrid said in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore, sir." Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life, with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.
"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," Dumbledore said nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply. Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver cigarette lighter. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundles of blankets on the step of Number Four. He smirked before he turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.
A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Andrew Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing him and his brother would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that him and his brother would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by their cousin Dudley. He couldn't know that at this very moment, people were meeting in secret all over the country and were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Andrew Potter - the boy who lived!"