Author's Note: I am not J.K. Rowling, nor am I affliated in any way with her or Scholastic. I do not own any of the characters here that have previously appeared in a book by J.K. Rowling, I'm just playing with them for a while.

Chapter 1- Privet Drive

It was blisteringly hot inside the walls of Number Four, Privet Drive. It was the hottest day on record in Little Whinging, and even inside the walls of Petunia Dursley's immaculate home seemed to have been transformed, thick as custard and difficult to breathe. Harry Potter lay motionless in his bed, sweat rolling off of him in tiny rivers. Although his window was open, there was not even the faintest breeze coming through it.

If only it could have waited a few more hours, he thought. For today was the 30th of July, mere hours away from his seventeenth birthday, when he would come of age as a wizard. He let his mind wander for a moment, imagining a stream of ice-cold water streaming from his wand.

It was with a sudden wrench that he remembered the last time he had occasion to use the spell. He had used it to extinguish Hagrid's hut, and Dumbledore...

It had all been like a bad dream. The weeks that had passed since Dumbledore's funeral had, at times, convinced him that it was an illusion, that it could not have actually happened. Albus Dumbledore, the paramount wizard of his age, the rock-solid source of calm and protection that Harry had relied upon for six years...was dead.

And dead in vain, thought Harry. He gripped the locket, the fake Horcrux, tightly in his fist. He had taken to wearing it nearly all the time now, a grim reminder of what had happened, and a talisman for what he must do. The trouble was, Harry mused, that he was not at all sure how to go about it. If only...if only there had been more time, he thought in frustration. He had very little idea of what the remaining Horcruxes were, and even less of an idea of how to find them. And as for what to do with them once he did...

Sighing in frustration, he peeled himself off of his bed, and once again began to comb his room for any possessions that he had forgotten to pack. He knew it was fruitless; he had searched his room top to bottom at least twice a day for the last week. It was cleaner that he had ever remembered it. Aunt Petunia would be pleased...that is, if she and Harry had spoken to each other, or indeed, seen each other since he had returned to Number 4.

He could still remember the day he returned. There must have been something etched on his face that warned the Dursleys that he was in no mood to put up with their usual treatment. Scared, and somehow smaller looking, they had left his completely alone since he had returned.

In past years, this might have been a bit of a treat for Harry. But in the light of all that had happened, it no longer mattered. His thoughts this summer had been almost entirely devoted to melancholy. If he wasn't thinking about Dumbledore, his mind wandered often to Ginny. Splitting up with her had been, without question, the hardest thing that he had ever had to do. He knew that she didn't care if she was in danger, but Harry couldn't allow yet another person to risk their life for him.

He thought bitterly of the blissful, sunlit days he had spent with her down at the lake. It seemed to have taken place years ago. How could he have ignored her for so long? There was so much time wasted pursing Cho, and now, there was no time left at all. He balled up his fists in frustration. He imagined that she would be moving on to someone else now. She was very popular, and not even the intimidation of Harry having been her boyfriend could keep the other boys away for long. Harry desperately wanted to hit something, to punish it for his own stupidity. At least, he thought, he'd be able to see her at the Burrow and talk to her for a while. He sighed, and leaned his head against his desk.

His eyes fell across the copy of the Daily Prophet he had left out. It was devoted, almost entirely,to the life and death of Albus Dumbledore. There was an interview with Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister of Magic, that was full of promises that Voldemort and his Death Eaters would soon be brought to justice. Harry snorted bitterly. The Ministry was no closer to catching Voldemort than a pair of Muggle police officers.

Rita Skeeter had written, as Harry had expected, a column that drew all sorts of implications from his own involvement during the battle at Hogwarts. She seemed particularly keen to point out that Harry had been on top of the tower with Dumbledore. She didn't come right out and say that she thought Harry was responsible for Dumbledore's death, but Harry knew her well enough to read between the lines. With a thrill of savage pleasure, Harry glanced up at the picture of Rita Skeeter at the top of the column. He had drawn a large, curly handlebar mustache on the portrait, and somehow it had managed to stay stuck on her face, no matter how much she moved.

The evening wore on, as Harry idly checked and re-checked his trunk, and made sure that Hedwig was secure in her cage. He stroked her briefly, and she nipped at his finger affectionately. At precisely 12:01 AM, he was going to travel to the Burrow by side-along Apparition. Arthur Weasley was going to meet him outside on the lawn, and Harry would be free of the Dursleys forever.

When the clock showed 11:45, Harry's heart began to pound strongly in his chest. It was happening, it was really happening. After seventeen long, horrible years, he was going to be leaving. He had thought, no doubt due to a sudden case of heat stroke, of saying goodbye to his aunt, uncle and cousin...but the absurdity of that thought had caused him to double up with laughter for nearly half an hour.

Ten minutes left. Five. Harry gathered his things, and began to move downstairs. He looked at his watch. Less than a minute left. In sixty seconds, he would be seeing Ron again, and he had never needed to see his best friend more in his life. He set down his trunk on the lawn, and waited. Four, three, two, one...

CRACK! Mr. Weasley appeared out of nowhere, his face shining with mirth. He extended his hand to Harry, who took it eagerly. They smiled at each other for moment.

"Happy Birthday, Harry. I expect you'll want to be going. You haven't got your test yet, so I'll have to take you side along. Ready to-" CRACK! CRACK! Harry looked around for the source of the noise. It was clearly someone Apparating, but the noise had sounded...muffled. As though it were coming...Harry's heart sank, from inside Number 4. Perhaps it was Fred and George, playing a prank. Two more loud cracks, and the alarm on Mr. Weasley's face, caused this thought to vanish in a rush of cold panic.

Harry mouthed "Wait here," to Mr. Weasley, and drew his wand. He crept quietly back into the house, not daring to even breathe heavily. Slowly, step by step, he made his way to the stairs. He heard low, irritated muttering.

"...quiet, Alecto, you'll alert him! Now, which..." The hoarse whisper trailed off. Harry's heart thundered in his chest. Low and indistinct thought it was, Harry could never mistake the that voice. Severus Snape, the man who had killed Albus Dumbledore, was now upstairs, seeking to do the same to him. A wave of fury crashed over him. He very nearly vaulted over the railing and attacked him. But that, Harry thought, would be foolish to the point of suicide.

Harry, moving slowly to the point of agony, put a single foot on the first stair. Suddenly, from up above, there was a crashing noise, as one of Aunt Petunia's vases of plastic flowers tumbled off of its table and shattered on the ground. The was a hiss, and then a long, loud silence.

"...the ruddy HELL is that boy playing at?" Uncle Vernon's furious voice came from behind his bedroom door. Harry's insides seemed to have vanished. Moving slightly quicker, covered by the sounds of Vernon clambering out of bed, he moved as far up the stairs as he dared. There were three others, besides Snape and Alecto. This puzzled Harry, as there had only been four cracks. One of them must not be able to Apparate. He could not tell who the others were, but a hideous stink, one of sweat and blood, stung Harry's nostrils. Fenrir Greyback was among them. A cold sweat broke out over Harry's face. Greyback was an infamous werewolf, who had a peculiar, and horrible, taste for children.

The door the master bedroom was flung open. "I'll give him a piece of my mi-" Vernon's shout broke off suddenly, as though someone had cast a Silencing jinx on him. For five long, silent seconds, nothing happened.

"Avada-"

"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted. The Death Eater's wand spun high in the air, and for a moment, nothing happened. The Death Eaters turned quickly to look at him, but did not seem to register his appearance. A full three seconds passed, and to Harry, they felt like hours. And then, the silence was broken.

"It's Potter!" shouted Snape, and raised his wand. Harry attempted a Stunning spell, but Snape casually flicked it aside. "You were never good enough..." Snape hissed, and his own Stunning spell shot so close to Harry that he was forced to throw himself down onto the stairs. He rolled, narrowly missing a red jet of light from another Death Eater. He scrambled to his feet and waved his wand. One of the Death Eaters began to rise into the air, but Snape blocked the spell a moment later.

Chaos reigned. Spells filled the air. Some of them came so close to Harry that they singed his clothes. And Snape was beginning to make his way to the stairs. Harry concentrated very hard on the incantation for Sectumsempra, and aimed his wand at Snape, but the spell was deflected with the casual air of one waving away a fly. Harry could imagine the cold sneer behind the mask, and Snape raised his wand. It was level with Harry's heart.

In desperation, Harry launched himself backwards over the railing, shouting "REDUCTO!". The stairs, and a good bit of the floor, exploded, showering the Death Eaters with splinters. There were roars of pain and muttered oaths, but Harry could barely hear them. He was already rolling, struggling to get some distance between himself and his enemies.

"Accio Firebolt!" he shouted as he fled toward the door. Dazzling jets of green light hit all around him, blasting large holes in the Dursleys' furniture. He could hear Snape shouting at them that Potter was to be taken alive, but they did not seem to be listening to him. Harry flung himself out of the door and reached for the broomstick that was hurtling toward him. He instantly spun himself onto it, flying past Arthur Weasley at startling speed.

"Harry, what on earth-"

"GET THEM OUT OF HERE, MR. WEASLEY! MY AUNT AND UNCLE AND COUSIN, THEY'RE UPSTAIRS!" Harry dove and twisted the broom into a tight hairpin turn and zoomed back into the house.

He had no plan. In the grip of terror, he merely reacted. But he knew, instinctively, that he needed raw speed at his disposal if he was to have a chance of escaping five Death Eaters. He was flying faster than he could ever remember. He noticed a lock of greasy, sallow hair from underneath a hood. Another killing curse sped past Harry, and Snape turned toward the person that cast the spell. A jet of red light burst from Snape's wand, and the Death Eater fell to the ground, limp. He turned back to face Harry, but Harry was already upon him. Rolling over on his broom, Harry felt his right foot make hard, sickening contact with the Snape's stomach. He fell like a rock, and so too did Harry. The impact had shaken him, affected his steering, and he was soon skidding along the floor, the carpet burning long strips on his back. He bounced and flew into the wall. His head snapped against it with a nauseating crunch, and Snape's mask tumbled from his face. Harry righted himself as a killing curse hit so close to him that he could feel his cloak move from the breeze.

Once again hitting top speed, Harry threw himself flat against the broomstick and blew out the back wall of the house. He was angling up, sharply, and suddenly, he felt a huge, heavy weight on the back of the Firebolt. A Death Eater, a strangely lumpy one, was hanging on to the back of his broom. Harry continued his ascent, dodging curses at point blank range. They were now nearly four hundred feet in the air, and Harry swung his elbow back just as he heard "Petrificus Totalus!" from behind him.

He could feel his muscles lock up. He was sliding backwards, propelled by his previous momentum, and collided with the person at his back. The shout of glee from behind him was cut off, instantly, and Harry saw a wand pirouetting through the air. And then, horribly, they both began to fall, the Death Eater losing their grip on the broom and plummeting much faster. Harry's leg, by sheer, blind luck, had ended up wrapped around the broomstick. It was completely rigid, but it was sufficient to cause his broom to plummet with him.

There was a loud, wet noise from below, and Harry's leg went limp. Scrambling frantically, Harry struggled to climb back onto the broom. He turned over and over again, and finally turned upright just as his left foot hit the pavement. There was a crack nearly as loud as those of the Death Eaters Apparating, and nauseating agony washed over him. He wavered for only a moment, and a voice cried "Incendio!"

A jet of fire missed Harry by inches, and a large shrub across the street burst into bright, dazzling flame. Harry shot a stunning spell back and sped toward his bedroom window. He yelled "Protego!" the instant before he hit the glass, and fragments of window sped past him without harm. He groped for Hedwig's cage, hoisted it up and unlocked it. "Hedwig! Go to Ron!" he hissed, and the owl flew out, shrieking in panic. He caught sight of Mr. Weasley, frantically struggling toward Dudley.

Dudley was at the end of the hall, throwing heavy punches at a huge Death Eater. Dudley scored three heavy jabs, and the Death Eater's mask was cracked. It was Amycus, the other lumpy looking person that was there when Dumbledore was killed. Dudley moved in for an uppercut, but a Stunning spell hit him directly in the belly. Owing perhaps to his bulk, though, it merely hurled him against the wall. Dudley crouched, holding his stomach and looking furious. Arthur was scrambling over wreckage and a black cloaked bodies. He looked back and spotted Harry.

"I've gotten your Aunt and Uncle to safe-"

"GET MY TRUNK, I'LL GET DUDLEY!" Harry soared past Mr. Weasley, and sent an Impediment Jinx at the Death Eater. It worked for only a moment, but it was enough. Harry soared down the hall, grabbed Dudley by the scruff of his neck, and heaved him onto the broomstick. He felt something snap in his arm, but it was strangely distant, as though it were happening to a stranger.

"Leggo 'me, I wanna settle it with that idiot!" Dudley roared petulantly, but Harry ignored him. A jet of red light flew directly under the broom, setting a few of the tail twigs alight. Harry wheeled quickly around and nearly lost Dudley. Snape was up again, and firing curses with horrifying rapidity. Harry turned and dodged, wave after wave of pain washing over him.

"Dudley, grab my arm!" Dudley seemed not to hear him, as Harry burst through the wall at the end of the hallway. Moments later, the entire side of the house was blown away. Fragments of white hot stone and glass ripped across Harry's face and back, and he heard a roar of pain from behind him. Looking back, he could see Dudley holding his arm. Blood was pouring out of a massive gash in it. And then he could see Snape's face, glowing sinisterly in the burning rubble. Fury was written across every line in the cruel face. Harry had to turn so rapidly to avoid a curse that Dudley slipped off the broom. Harry looped and sped of towards the falling body of his cousin. He stretched out his broken arm, and Dudley latched onto it. There was another snap, and Harry, Dudley and the broomstick fell, heading directly toward Snape.

A disgusting, triumphant smile broke across his face as he raised his wand. Harry had managed to seat Dudley back on the broom, and was grateful that Dudley was clutching onto it for dear life. Snape did not bother to cast the spell non-verbally. "Sectumsempra!"

Harry twisted, and felt the familiar, unpleasant sensation of being squeezed through a tube. Just as he thought his lungs must burst, his feet touched the soft, long grass of the Burrow. He had done it. Lurching sideways, he could see Mrs. Weasley rushing over to him, looking terrified. There were distant screams, and several loud noises of surprise. And then he felt something peculiar, warm and wet on his back. He looked over his shoulder.

Dudley was standing there, his eyes and mouth wide open in shock, with his arms spread wide. Three long, deep gashes were carved into his chest and were spurting blood in long, crimson jets.