Author's Note: OK, before you begin to read the story, there are a few things that require explanation. Don't worry, I won't keep you long. In this version of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, there is no Umbridge because I just don't like her and she would conflict with the storyline. The dementors at the beginning of the book were sent by Voldemort, just as everyone suspected. I also have several run-on sentences. Those were placed there on purpose to mimic the way people's thoughts run through their heads during intense scenes. Without further ado, on with the story!
Oh, and please review. That's what that little button down at the bottom of the page is for. Remember: I update faster the more reviews I get. I love constructive criticism, but please don't flame. It's pointless and does nothing to improve the story for anyone. Thanks!
Disclaimer: In no way or form am I claiming Harry Potter or any of J.K. Rowling's creations as my own. They're hers, I'm just playing with them. The story idea is mine, but everything else belongs to J.K Rowling, no matter how much I wished otherwise. Several scenes are taken directly from the books. Those aren't mine in any way whatsoever.
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Chapter 1: Escape from the Dursleys
"I see," said Uncle Vernon, looking from his white-faced wife to Harry and hitching up his trousers. He seemed to be swelling, his great purple face stretching before Harry's eyes. "Well, that settles it," he said, his shirt front straining as he inflated himself, "you can get out of this house, boy!"
"What?" said Harry.
"You heard me-- OUT!" Uncle Vernon bellowed, and even Aunt Petunia and Dudley jumped. "OUT! OUT! I should have done it years ago! Owls treating the place like a rest home, puddings exploding, half the lounge destroyed, Dudley's tail, Marge bobbing around on the ceiling, and that flying Ford Anglia-- OUT! OUT! You've had it! You're history! You're not staying here if some loony's after you, you're not endangering my wife and son, you're not bringing trouble down on us, if you're going the same way as your useless parents, I've had it! OUT!"
Harry stood rooted to the spot. The letters from the Ministry, Mr. Weasley, and Sirius were crushed in his left hand. Don't leave the house again, whatever you do. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE'S HOUSE.
"You heard me!" said Uncle Vernon, bending forward now, so that his massive purple face came closer to Harry's, so that Harry actually felt flecks of spit hit his face. "Get going! You were all keen to leave half an hour ago! I'm right behind you! Get out and never darken our doorstep again! Why we ever kept you in the first place I don't know, Marge was right, it should have been the orphanage, we were too damn soft for our own good, thought we could squash it out of you, thought we could turn you normal, but you've been rotten from the beginning, and I've had enough-- OWLS!"
A fifth owl zoomed down the chimney so fast it actually hit the floor before zooming into the air again with a large screech. Harry raised his hand to seize the letter, which was in a scarlet envelope, but it soared straight over his head, flying directly at Aunt Petunia, who let out a scream and ducked, her arms over her face. The owl dropped the red envelope on her head, turned, and flew straight up the chimney again.
Harry looked at the letter, then seized the opportunity to turn and run out of the kitchen. As though through a haze, he heard Uncle Vernon roar behind him, "Let go of it, Petunia! Don't touch it, it could be dangerous!" But Harry was already up the stairs and throwing all of his supplies into his trunk.
He snapped the lid of his trunk shut, put his wand in his back pocket, grabbed the handle of the trunk in one hand and Hedwig's cage in the other. He was halfway down the stairs when the Howler exploded.
"REMEMBER MY LAST, PETUNIA."
Putting on a last burst of speed, Harry wrenched the front door open and ran out into the night. Cool air hit his face as he practically ran to the street, turning right along Privet Drive and ignoring the shouts of "COME BACK HERE, BOY!" behind him. There was no reason for him to stay here-- he doubted that even Dumbledore would be able to sort out this mess. The only thing left for him to do was to go somewhere-- anywhere-- and hide.
Harry continued to walk until, panting from the effort of dragging his trunk, he found himself once again collapsing onto the same low brick wall that he had sat on two years earlier when running from the Dursleys after blowing up Aunt Marge.
Sighing, Harry leaned back and rubbed his temples. He would just have to do what he had planned on those two years ago: bewitch his trunk to be feather-light, tie it to his broomstick, cover himself in his invisibility cloak, and fly to London. There he would get the rest of his money out of his vault at Gringott's and begin his life as an outcast.
The prospect didn't sound any less horrifying than it had two years earlier.
Harry moved Hedwig's cage from his lap to the wall beside him and pulled open his trunk, searching for the invisibility cloak. After only a few seconds of searching, though, Harry straightened up once more. A funny prickling on the back of his neck had made him feel he was being watched, strangely similar to when he was thirteen. Once again, however, the street appeared to be deserted.
He turned to the gap between the garage and the fence behind him. Once again, exactly like two years ago, there was the hulking outline of something very big, with wide, gleaming eyes.
"Sirius?" Harry tentatively asked, instinctively stumbling backward when the figure growled, low and menacing. "I thought not…" Harry stepped back into the street, and the figure followed, pawing out into the moonlight.
Harry's blood froze. Of course-- Voldemort wouldn't just have sent dementors. He would have wanted to make sure that something got Harry… and tonight just happened to be a full moon. A werewolf.
Harry scrambled to get his wand out his back pocket-- it wasn't there. It must have fallen out in his rush to get away from the Dursleys. "Oh, bloody hell…" Harry turned and did the only thing he could do; he ran.
He had always been a fast runner; years of being chased by Dudley's gang had conditioned him for it. He had also outrun a werewolf once before-- Lupin, in his third year-- but this time he didn't have Hagrid's hut to run into. Even Harry knew that he couldn't outrun a full-grown werewolf in a straight stretch.
Gasping for breath, Harry ran, but he could hear the werewolf getting closer behind him, paws pounding on the asphalt. He didn't look behind him-- to do so was to see just how close the werewolf was, and Harry didn't want to know.
A dark alleyway between two houses drew close up ahead-- it could be a dead end, but Harry would have to risk it. He could hear the werewolf close behind him, and to keep running forward was to be attacked, killed. Turning at the last minute, Harry nearly lost his balance, but his hands grasped the side of one house and pulled to help him turn. The werewolf skidded past behind him, but Harry knew it wouldn't take long for it to turn too.
Only after the turn did Harry look to the end of the alleyway. A dead end. There were some trash bins at the end, though, and if he could scramble up on those then he might be able to make it over the brick wall. With a running leap, Harry jumped for the trash bins just as the werewolf charged down alleyway at full speed.
The trash bins tilted as his feet hit them, tipping over, his hands brushed the top of the brick wall, he was almost safe…
And then the werewolf knocked Harry's legs out from under him, ripping jeans and skin with razor-sharp claws and pulling him away from his only escape. Harry hit the pavement hard and heard a crash as glasses that had fallen from his face during the fall smashed underneath him. A big blurry outline above him reared back for a bite to his neck. Harry rolled away just as the jaws came down where his neck would have been, throwing up his arm instinctively to protect his face as the blurry figure moved to bite again…
Harry felt sharp teeth break the skin of his forearm, scraping bone, and screamed. Red filled his vision. Growling, the werewolf raised its huge, clawed paw for a fatal blow--
"EXPELLIARMUS!"
With a surprised yelp of pain, the werewolf was thrown backward into the garbage bins. The red in Harry's vision was slowly being replaced by black as he clutched his injured arm to his chest. Dark blood stained his shirt. Faintly, as though from very far away, Harry heard the sounds of several people enter the alleyway, saying spells that jumbled in his mind, chasing the werewolf into the street, "don't let him get away, we can catch him this time!"
"Harry, did he bite you?"
"We need to get him to St. Mungo's immediately…"
"I'll apparate him there, there's no time to lose…"
Harry felt someone take hold of his shoulder. "Hold on, Harry, you'll be alright." There was a tight feeling, as though Harry was being squeezed from every direction at once. His head felt very light, he was floating…
With a final burst of red, Harry was blasted into black oblivion.