Hey Hey fellow Harry Potter enthusiasts!

This is my first Harry Potter fanfic and I hope its okay and NOT totally off the mark! I would really appreciate any feedback at all! ANY FEEDBACK! REALLY, IT DOESN'T MATTER!

And a disclaimer: I do not (unfortunately) own Harry Potter or any Harry Potter related material!

HARRY

POTTER

AND THE STAFF OF VIGOR

~ ~ !!! ~ ~

CHAPTER 1: STRANGE BEHAVIOUR

It was the middle of the holidays and the neighbourhood in which Privet Drive was situated was nothing short of quiet, dull and hot. People went humbly about their business and seemed wholly concerned with nothing but their own life the existence of their family. This particular afternoon the air was warm and a soft wind was blowing creating a perfect ambience. The afternoon was being appreciated by all and had everyone in the neighbourhood in a happy, lighthearted mood. Everyone that was, but Harry Potter.

Staring at the ceiling Harry sighed in frustration for what must have been the tenth time that day. He moved around on his bed trying to get comfortable and to sleep, but still did not succeed. Sitting up, Harry looked out the window. He felt the kind breeze on his face that had so many others in a good mood but it did nothing for him, instead he frowned and shut his window. Resuming his position on the bed he once again tried to get to sleep, sighing in frustration again. The picture of a man came into his mind but Harry shook his head and tried to concentrate on something else. He spotted the letter on the small desk at the end of the room and sighed again, this time in relief, at the distraction. This is what his holidays had consisted of; distracting himself from thoughts of the man that seemed to want to take over his mind.

He hated it. The man in his mind smiled and made promises of a future that would never happen, of things Harry knew he would never get, not now that the man was dead.

Leaping off his bed Harry snatched up the letter. It was his letter of admission into his sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, still unopened. He now opened it slowly and read the contents, which were written in bright green ink. It consisted of the books and school supplies he would need for next year; his OWL results and told him shortly of the years events. Harry he let out a small, disappointed breath as he realised that he wasn't a Prefect this year again. Honestly his workload was not that great at school.

He was rereading the list of supplies he would need this year when there came a sharp series of taps from his window. Harry placed the letter back on the desk and opened his window to let in two owls. They were Errol and Pig, the Weasley's owl and his best friend Ron's owl. He stared at them dumbly for a moment before noticing the packages they had bought with them and then was struck with a sudden realization. It was his sixteenth birthday! He had forgotten it.

"Well." Harry mused; quite shocked he had forgotten his own birthday. It had never happened before.

Then again, he had never been so out of touch with reality before. His Uncle Vernon had locked Harry in his room all holidays. Harry had been fed little and was hardly even allowed to go to the bathroom unless he pounded on the door consistently. He had watched the other children in the street play on the sidewalks while he had starved and read every book in his room several times over. His cousin Dudley had teased him nonstop while his Aunt and Uncle had watched the taunting, his Uncle smiling and his Aunt with a blank, tightlipped expression on her face. No one had offered him any sympathy over Sirius's death either; not that he needed it since he wasn't thinking of Sirius. Not that they knew about his death anyway.

Harry turned around and looked in the small mirror he had on his chest of drawers. He couldn't see anything that made him look much different from when the holidays had begun. He had grown broader and taller these holidays but doubted he would ever be as tall as Ron, who towered over nearly everyone. He still had the same bright green eyes and messy unmanageable hair. Though it was pushed out of the way now so it didn't block his forehead, he didn't feel the need to hide his scar anymore, everyone knew who he was. His eyes traveled to his scar, now there was something that had changed a bit these holidays. It was still in the shape of a lightening bolt but it had been changing its colour, no longer staying its normal faded pink. Today it was black. Harry couldn't explain it but felt it wasn't a big enough of a problem to inform his friends about as it didn't hurt. If it hurt, then was the time to worry. Harry shook his head and directed his attention back to his presents.

Grabbing Errol's parcel he opened it slowly to reveal a birthday cake and some sweets, which he was grateful for, because he hadn't eaten all day so far. Ron had sent him a few books on Quidditch and a letter:

Hey Mate,

Happy birthday! I got you some Quidditch books that I hope you like. I'm really sorry you couldn't come over to the Burrow these holidays but with Bill and Charlie over we couldn't fit anyone. Mum says sorry too, she was pretty upset when she realised that you would have to stay with those Muggles all holidays.

Have you started homework yet? I've got Hermione writing me a few letters telling me to do it and that she knows I haven't started. A bit mad that one.

See you in a few days!

Ron

Harry smiled for the first time in days and picked up one of the books Ron had sent. It was thick and had written on the cover in gold 'Legal Quidditch Curses, Spells and Charms'. It looked like a great book and Harry was a little worried at how Ron would have been able to afford it. The Weasley's weren't the richest of people. A few moments later Harry's owl Hedwig appeared with another parcel that had a tag with his name on it, it was from Harry's other best friend Hermione. Hermione's package was a great deal smaller than the others were. He opened it to reveal a small silver chain, complete with a small silver Snitch about the size of his thumbnail. The Snitch flapped its wings slowly. Harry grinned widely. Hermione usually got him books. From all his friends he usually got books. This was a nice change.

Harry was looking over his presents when there came a knock from his door. He frowned immediately. In the Dursley house no one ever offered him the courtesy of knocking, even though he hadn't always had his cousin Dudley's old room. Previously he had lived in a cupboard under the stairs. After hiding his presents under the loose floorboard in his room, Harry approached the door somewhat cautiously. He opened it and kept frowning because standing in front of him was his Aunt Petunia, hand on her hip and a very sour look on her face.

"Well, did you forget your manners or something? Invite me in!" Aunt Petunia scolded after several moments of silence.

"Er, come in." Harry mumbled, trying to work out what his Aunt was doing. She walked briskly to the other end of his room and refused to face him.

"I," Aunt Petunia paused and if Harry had been looking at her, he would have seen her go slightly pink, "I brought you some…some food. To eat."

Harry noticed now the small tray she was carrying. On it was a small assortment of sandwiches and a few pieces of what looked like chocolate slice.

"Oh, thank you Aunt Petunia." Harry suspected the food might be poisoned. He had never received anything pleasant from his Aunt before. He took the tray and put it on his desk before facing his Aunt again. It was several moments of silence under his Aunts direct gaze that made Harry decide to speak.

"Yes Aunt Petunia?" He asked carefully. His Aunts eyes were studying his face and her expression seemed a little softened.

"Sixteen." She said. Harry frowned.

"Sixteen?" He repeated questionably. Now his Aunt frowned, her gentle expression gone.

"Don't play stupid boy. Obviously you know that you're sixteen today." She established, her tone mocking his intellect slightly.

"Well, yes. What about it?" Harry replied rudely. If she was going to speak to him like that on his birthday he wasn't going to offer her the courtesy of being polite.

"Your mother was sixteen once." Aunt Petunia walked towards his window and looked out of it dreamily.

"Obviously." Harry muttered. His Aunt's head snapped around quickly.

"What was that?" She demanded sharply.

"I said 'really?'" He smiled at her forcibly. His Aunt nodded slowly, regaining her dreamy expression.

"We went on a holiday for your mother's sixteenth. A big celebration it was," She looked disdainful, "My parents got her back from that school of yours just so she could celebrate it with the family."

All Harry managed to do was watch his Aunt, a blank expression on his face. His Aunt never talked about his mother. She hardly even talked to him. Yet, her interaction with him lately had been strange. With the minimal amount of times he had seen her she had still been sharp and spiteful, especially around Uncle Vernon and Dudley, but less so than usual. Also, today she had bought him food.

"We went camping," His Aunt continued to talk, "Of all lowly things to do we went camping." She shook her head in shame. Aunt Petunia was obviously above such things.

"And…and what about it?" Harry demanded softly. His Aunt didn't seem to hear him.

"I think," She paused and looked at him thoughtfully before continuing, "That when we went on that holiday, it was the only time your mother and I never fought once. We got along, as much as we could."

Harry stared at the ground and inwardly gaped. His Aunt hated his mother. He looked up at Aunt Petunia's face and saw tears had formed in her eyes.

"I was written. You're Headmaster Dumbly…something, he wrote and told us that your Godfather had died. He told us how he was killed." Aunt Petunia said quietly.

Harry jumped before quickly regaining his composure about this information. He could not imagine why in his right mind Dumbledore would have done such a thing.

"Oh," Harry came to a sudden realization, "That's why I've been locked up."

His Uncle Vernon had previously been so terrified with the thought that Sirius Black, Harry's Godfather, might appear at the end of his bed in the middle of the night and hex him into oblivion if he treated Harry wrong. Uncle Vernon knew that Sirius was an escaped prisoner convicted of murder. He didn't know, fortunately for Harry, that Sirius had been wrongly accused.

Now his Uncle knew that Sirius was dead would explain why he had been so cruel to Harry these holidays, the threat of Sirius was gone.

"You're Uncle thinks its best. To keep your vulgar and vile ways under control. He doesn't want you getting up to any mischief. Now that you're older we know you certainly will." Aunt Petunia explained blandly. Harry simply nodded in reply.

"Those people that killed him Harry," His name sounded strange coming from her lips, "They worked for that…that man. That man that killed her didn't they?"

It took Harry a moment to realise his Aunt was talking about how Voldemort, the evilest Wizard to ever have existed, had killed his mother. Harry stared out of his window now, in the same fashion his Aunt had previously. Heaven forbid if he should get caught up in an emotional moment with Aunt Petunia. He opted for nodding slightly.

"I thought so." Aunt Petunia said to herself so quietly that Harry had to strain to hear her. They both stood quietly for a few minutes before his Aunt walked out of his room and shut the door so sharply that Harry was worried for a moment that it might come of its hinges. Afterwards, he let the shock of the conversation sink in. He grabbed a sandwich from the tray his Aunt had given him, forgetting that it might be poisoned, and sat on his bed. He had a set expression on his face as he was determined to work out Aunt Petunia's strange behaviour.

* * * *

The cold eyes of the man looked around the one-roomed hut with disgust. Never had he seen such a foul example of something that was supposed to be suited to inhabiting living creatures. Not only was the roof leaking ceaselessly, the floor was diseased, covered in layers of dirt and grime, as were the walls and ceiling. Mould was sprouting out of the corners of the hut and from the bodies of rates scattered everywhere, who had probably came to the place to die. The room did reek of death. The sides of the mans mouth twitched upwards in what could have been a smile. He turned towards his companion, whose face remained impassive even though he was shaking inwardly. He could have spared the brave facade. The man could fear on him and he liked it.

"This," He said, gesturing around the room, "Is the most pathetic, appalling, abominable excuse for a place to rest I have ever seen."

The companion, who went by the informal name of Wormtail, now evidently shrunk back.

"I know it isn't much my Lord, but I'll have it cleaned and you might get accustomed to it in time..." He trailed off.

"I would like to see you attempt it," The man, who appeared to be the Master, shook his head, "When you said that you would find me a place of hiding I expected something that would suit me. Do you think this kind of habitat suits me?"

"No my Lord," Wormtail squeaked, "But this is an old place protected by old magic. It is the only place you can hide for now, what since Harry Potter has made it so well known of your glorious return..."

"Harry Potter, the very loathing of my existence." The man snarled, detest high in his voice. He strode to the other end of the room, the bottom of his cloak lightly touching the floor.

"I know he has been an evident pebble in your shoe sir…" Wormtail stopped as his Master spun around to face him angrily.

"A pebble in my shoe? You pathetic excuse of living matter! He has been a terminal wound in my chest. The one thing that has been holding me back from claiming the world as I rightly own." Voldemort snapped.

"Yes my Lord, but he is powerful." Wormtail said quietly.

"Powerful? He is fortunate to have the protection of so many Aurors and that…that Dumbledore." More loathing was mustered into the mans voice, he hated many people.

"Of course my Lord. I did not mean to imply he was by any means worthy. It's just…"

"Those Aurors." The Master finished.

"Yes, they are a large problem," Wormtail bowed respectively, "Nothing you cannot handle my Lord."

"Yes but it would take too much time, and time I cannot afford to lose. I need a quick and easy answer to increase my number of servants…" The man trailed off.

"Not this again my Lord. Yo-" Wormtail began but was stopped as a bright light hit him. He began screaming as his body began to constrict and convulse in ways it should not have.

"Do you find my ideas and plans tedious Wormtail? Would you rather spend your time with someone other than the great Lord Voldemort?" The man snarled, baring fang like teeth. His servant continued to spasm and squirm in pain. Voldemort continued his torment momentarily before releasing his companion.

"My…my…Lord…I would…would never…" Wormtail was inhaling sharply. Voldemort waved his pale hand nonchalantly, once again returning his attention to the room.

He pointed his wand around the room and mumbled a few words under his breath. Wormtail recoiled in fear of another attack. After realizing nothing was going to happen he uncovered his eyes and looked around the room. The hut had been transformed from its previous state into something much more comfortable. The floor, walls and ceiling were now spotless, the floor covered in a lush rug. A large stone fireplace had appeared and was producing vast amounts of heat. The roof was repaired and had been enchanted to look like a dark, starless night.

"Stop staring like an idiot and make yourself useful." Voldemort commanded. Wormtail nodded and got up and removed his master's cloak, hanging in on the hook that had appeared on the wall.

"Back to the issue of the Aurors…if it isn't too mundane for you that is Wormtail." Voldemort sat down on a large chair facing the fire.

"No my Lord, never." Wormtail shivered.

"There has to be some way to diminish their numbers. Some way other than taking them down one by one as they capture my servants in groups." Voldemort paused to think.

"More people are becoming less afraid of you my Lord," Wormtail began carefully, "They say Harry Potter has aroused the good in them, the need to be brave."

"The good in them? It bothers me how other Wizards can believe that the ways of determining the classification of a Wizard is by if they are good and evil. Not by powerful and weak, as it truly should be." Voldemort shook his head, others could be so misguided.

"Exactly Sir, power is everything. It just seems that so many believe in good and evil." Wormtail didn't exactly agree with his master, but he would never express so.

"Good and Evil," Voldemort scoffed, "So by their views I am evil. That is fine. By my views they are weak."

"As weak as they come my Lord. I suppose it makes them feel better to believe they are good." Wormtail offered.

"If only those that were weak, those who hid their anger because they were afraid, could find the strength within themselves to be powerful." Voldemort stared into the fire, contemplating.

"They would be at your side faster than a Snitch my Lord." Wormtail agreed fervently. It was true after all; weak Wizards did not have the determination to seek power beyond their belief.

"We will make them angry then. We will make them want power. Crave it so badly that they would rather kill their own children than settle for giving it up and being another plain, weak Wizard." Voldemort rose triumphantly.

"My Lord?" Wormtail questioned.

"We will make the weak ones hate. And the weak ones that hate loathe." Voldemort pulled his cloak off the hook and put it on. He walked steadily towards the door before turning momentarily back to cast his gaze disapprovingly on Wormtail.

"I will be back. Wait and do not leave."