Chapter One:
The Anger Of Death was not knocking on his door. Why? Well, quite simply it was not his time to die. Not now, not in the Graveyard or even the Department of Mysteries. IF he was not meant to die, how the was he here before the dark specter of doom? Well, that would not take much to figure out, unless of course you were magical, thought that all you did was for the Greater Good, or believed all the shit that constantly came out of one mouth in particular.
I know you still do not understand...Let me see if I can help with that. Harry Potter had to got to the Muggle side of Platform 9 ¾ when he was disgusted by the sight that was in front of him. No I am not talking about his relatives, whom were standing there, but rather I am speaking of the Order members that were giving his Uncle a stern talking down.
What were they, fucking idiots? His relatives were not the nicest, happiest, sincere or thoughtful of people. They thought they were helping, sure, but when someone tells you half truths and facts wrapped in lies, riddles, and partial answers, then you are bound to do nothing more then make things worse, which coincidentally these particular people were doing.
His Aunt, although rarely physically abusive, looked almost feral – rabid even more so then her Sister-In-Law Marge's lovely dog Ripper. His Uncle Vernon had the chops of a bull dog and the disposition of a Rattlesnake. Dudley, well there were a lot of animals that he shared traits with, like a hippo, elephant, slug, oh the list could go on and on, but with out exception they all were shooting him murderous looks.
The drive home, any other day would have been one of the best that he could remember. Dudley sat on his 99 percent of the rear seat. The remaining one percent was shared between Harry, Hedwigs cage, and the door. Presently he was intimately familiar with the door handle, but at least Dudders was not hitting him with his Smelting's stick.
Speaking of the Smelting's stick, he had heard his cousin clai that a teacher called it 'the board of education'. Basically it was nothing more then a wooden paddle that a parent might use on his or her child when they were misbehaving. Harry had also heard him claim that she tried to use it on him or did use it on him on many occasions. Obviously that didn't work, the boy was not smarter or better behaved.
Anyways, the car passengers were quiet the whole way. The only change in the routine was that Vernon made a couple stops on the way to pick up things that were needed so that his unwanted nephew could earn his keep without the use of freakishness.
He bought a bunch of things at an electronics and hobby store, an automobile parts store, some gas in the lawn mower can, and even some bleach and paint thinner. Paint, paint brushes and even patio/concrete stain.
Looking at all the things that the man was gladly having delivered, he knew that it would be a long and hot summer. At least he now had a window in his so called bedroom.
No sooner had the member of the 'semi-secretive' Order of The Phoenix told the fat man what was what, they all went about their business secure in the fact that the man would do what was in his best interest, and he would. They just did not know that the man's best interest and their best interest was not exactly the same.
You may ask how body guards no matter how unofficial, could be secure in the thought that he would be intimidated was because none of them had any of the bigger or real pieces of the puzzle that was Harry James Potter or his guardianship.
Remus left the train station knowing that his cub was in good hands. Albus assured him, the fat muggle claimed that if anything the 'boy' was constantly threatening them with magic, and that the guard would take up his slack. After all, the greatest smartest and most venerable of them all, the Leader of the Light and the only one the Dark Lord feared, assured him that Harry was happy where he was.
Now one could say that Remus didn't notice the abuse, or the scars, the shunning of public touch, invasion of personal space, or the little to no friends. Had he noticed them, he may have put them off as to his fame or shyness. IF he noticed them, which he didn't. No he didn't notice, he had his own problems, he was after all – a werewolf. Bitten when he was four and shunned ever since. Hence a kid with no friends, outside of one or two, an overbearing Grandfatherly Headmaster and a little kindness kept him blind to the way's of mankind.
The only one who noticed or even cared was now dead. That was another thing that the Headmaster and his charges did not keep from the Dursley's. After all the boy was a freak and they were deathly afraid of his escaped-convict-mass-murdering Godfather, so the fact that there was no one to say or do anything did not help poor Harry one iota.
The rest of the Order were either part time old men, retired nothings, and old ladies (regardless of gender) that did nothing more then worry and gossip, neither effectively. There was no gathering of any real intelligence. One was a retired Aurror, that while good in his own way and his own time, was now nothing more then a worried, paranoid old man that was locked in his trunk for months, right under his 'best-friends' nose and the 'best-friend' never knew it. With friends like Albus who needs enemies.
Two to four were Aurror members that had their noses so far up the old man's ass they could not smell the shit, that when he implied, out right asked, or insinuated what needed to be done to reach an objective that only he knew, they would jump to it, never caring to ask how high. The may break a few laws or a few hundred per day, as long as it was for the Greater Good, and with Dumbledore's knowledge, then it was okay, wasn't it?
He was the Leader of the Light, Headmaster Of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump, the only one You-know-who feared, the greatest since Merlin, the bonded of a Phoenix, one of the oldest Wizards still alive, the most powerful and knowledgeable. He was Albus Dumbledore dammit! If he said it was okay, then it had to be. After all, he wouldn't lie would he.
Albus Dumbledore said that Harry was loved and cared for. That he was worshiped to almost a perverse level. That he loved his relatives, and they he. The smile that lit up the uncle's face was proof of that, an abusive, mean, or otherwise unfit relative would not drive out of their way to come get you, pay for your schooling or buy you anything and everything that you wanted...would they? From what little they knew or understood, Harry was treated even better then their own son. That was saying something.
So it was this that led up to the demise of our kicked one time too many, little puppy. Albus thought that others would keep to the same schedule that was used last year to guard the child, he had even made notes to thin out the shifts, stagger then or skip randomly so as to better spread out his defensive network and his intelligence operatives. As if Molly Wealey knew what any death eater or suspected death eater was up to, when she was nothing more then a homebody. She sat at home thinking about the hey days, when she was 'attractive', 'nicely proportioned', 'wanted' and about how if she could do things over, she would have married more for money then sex, or a Ministry worker. She often wondered why in the world she turned down Lucius Malfoy's proposal, even his subsequent 'financial proposals'. Maybe she would have to rethink that decision. Money was getting as tight as her ugly skirts, after all.
That was the kind of man that she wanted for her one and only daughter. A man that was strong, rich, powerful in his own way, yet esasily controled by a attractive figure and the thoguht of what he might get with regards to sexual gratifications, when he does as his wife asked.
Her boys were straight, with the exception of Ron and maybe Percy. So there would be no money coming in there, just going out if they were good enough or lucky enough to get a Pure-blooded girl, regardless of her looks, that was harder up for Gold then even the Weasley's were thought to be. Good Luck there, mate!
That is why she brainwashed her daughter into thinking that Harry Potter was her's for the taking. That if she wanted him bad enough then he would be hers. That if she had to use a potion or two to open his eyes or even 'giving it up' to him, then that is what she would have to do in order to get her hands on the Potter fortune and turn it over to her mother. Of course the scheming mother told her gold digging spawn that if she got knocked up that it was to be Harry Potter's regardless. After all the Order had a Potions MASTER working for them and he could design a potion to mask who the baby was really fathered by, couldn't he?
Oh it was all planed, the wedding the death, the possible heir. Oh it was all planned out, down to the last Knutt. Everything was accounted for. There was no room for error. Oh she knew Albus had his designs on the boy, even if not quite what they were, but this, no this he would not deny her. She would put her foot down, he would not dare cross her if he knew what was best for himself, never mind others.
Albus knew that if he went too far with his pushing her around or with his 'suggestions' then she would expose him for what he truly was and he was not sure what she meant by the threat but it had to be true, or else she would never use the threat as ammo against his wishes.
Serveus Snape was a hard character to figure out. Dark, ugly, greasy haired, sour disposition, hatred of all things not Slytherin or Snape. A supposed spy for the Dark Lord, one thought to spy for the Light Lord, when in actuality he was hoping for all three of his enemies to die on the battle field leaving him behind to take the show over. That was Snape, let someone else do the work, then take the credit for it!
That was one reason that he was not considered a Potions Master anywhere other then Magical England.
Well that and the fact that Magical England had not changed the rotation of the OWLs or NEWTs in almost three or four hundred years. They had test 'A' and 'B' and alternated them like clockwork. Had a family noticed which some probaly did, then when two siblings or relatives followed one another with a year in between, they had taken the same exact examinations.
This was one reason why they were still using potions more then anything in healing. Had they changed over to the International Standards test, like all the other magical countries, a lot of things would have changed, like magical England would have a spell that imitated a defibrillator instead of one that induses a small bolt of electricity directly to the heart which relied on percission, knowledge and the abilities and power of the caster, thus it was more often then not fatal to use. Or know how to produce a magical CAT scan. Or that 'wands' were not the one and only medium in magical manipulation.
For instance, if Serveus Snape was to apply for a Mastery in, say, America, he would be denied because most of his work was previously recorded or submitted, word for word, theory for theory to the International Potions Master's Guild, the International Licenseing committee and the ICW. All appropriately filed, recorded and dated by multiple fact finders and duplicators - long before he claimed to have made them. Without fail almost all were students or customers tha the had failed in school or down right made the experience so uncomfortable that Endgland lost 99 percent of the possible International Stadard Masters and even Mater Brewers.
Yup, potions made or finished or theorized by a student that was better then him. Submitted days or even years before him. Like Wolfsbane. A Hogwarts student created it, wrote down and had it stolen by a hawk nosed wanna be. The same items soon helped the man earn a Mastery in Potions in England. After all, Lilly Potter would never know, she was dead and England did as England wanted. They were the rulers and founders of magic after all, it was their right. So with stolen formulas and other peoples work, Serveus Snape gat a Mastery that he did not deserve.
Could he brew? Hell yeah he was one of the best in England, maybe most of the world. But there is a big difference in reading about a recipe for say a hamburger and coming up with Prime Rib, Ceaser Salad and Baked Alaskan. Oh and a side of good old Turnip Greens, Mac and Cheese and Mashed Potatoes with Gravy and corn. With the obligatory Captain Morgans Silver Tab and Mountain Dew.
You can serve me a plate of spinich and call it Lobster, but that does not change that fact that it is spinich, get what I mean?
Could he formulate a new or improved potion with no outside help or assistance? Do pigs fly? Well non-magical ones at least?
Hell NO!
When he got into his so called room, the door slamed shut behind him. On what might mistakenly be called a desk was a glass of milk, apple, and a cheese and bologna sandwich. The bread could be used in harvesting new Penicillin, the chesse as a scientific malady, and the bologna has a new chemical weapon. In comparrison the milk was fresh. He was pretty sure the experation date was for the day he left at the end of the previous summer holiday's. Yeah the apple was good, if you ate in between the worms, holes, and black mold.
Ah and the vacation begins. Twelve weeks of uninterrupted, hard labor, little to no food, lucky you don't get water from a toilet bowl. Oh the joy of bending over and taking it...yeah you get the point.
He had just headed down to get his trunk now that Hedwigs cage was in the room, when things went from crappy to shitty. He had pulled the shade so that he could open the window to admit his fine feathered friend when he got a good surprise. There were no bars on the window that he could see. Of course he could not see the window or the shade due to the fact that there were eight lag bolts holding a ¾ inch thick plywood barrier in place. Over the barrier there were two steel bars holding everything tight and secure.
How thoughtful. His loving relatives were so law abiding, making sure that they failed to meet almost a single fire safty law. At least he had a smoke detector, not that they would let him out of the room if it went off or if there really was a fire. Not that there was even a battery in it.
Wait, the Dursley's would have a battery in it, just a dead one or one that was installed backwards or some such crap. Now that he thought about it he would have to check.
Anyways, as he turned around to open the door and ask what was up, his nose was flattened to his face. Ah, Uncle Vernon was starting to show his 'love' already. How sweet!
It was the first full day of Summer break. Ron was excited and ready to make the most of every moment of each day he did not have to sit in a boring stuffy class. He could not wait to they got to the good stuff, like the things that the Headmaster would be teaching them later on in the summer.
He was going to write his best friend and soon lover, but other things came into his slightly smaller then average...mind. First and foremost he was tired, so he finsihed going to the bathroom, headed to the breakfast table where he wolfed down more then his share of food before returning to his room to either look at the Madam Malkin's Witch's Catalog that he stole from his fathers wood shed, or to bed. Either way it was the same.
He would write Harry later, right now he did not want to think about that selfish bastard. It was always Harry, Harry, Harry. What about him, Ronnie! Sometimes it would be nice if he was acknowledged or given some of what should be his anyways. Fame, Gold, Food, Gold, Sex, Food. The things that the best friend of Harry Potter should be entitled too.
While the fool did what lonely introverted sexually repressed kids do to get to sleep, count sheep, think about sex with sheep, what ever it was – his sister was in her room doing her own thing.
Now you perves need to get your mind out of the gutter. She was not chillin', jillin' or anything of that sort, but if anything she was always willing. Willing to lie, cheat, steal, dose and coerce what ever she could for as little as she could get away with giving up.
It was fun running around 9 months or so a year with less then a dozen teachers to keep an eye on upwards of 400 students. Running around learning things and doing things that she bet her mother never would, did, or could do. Broom closets, to broom riders, to sometimes the broom.
She was ;mentally' saving her self for the one that she truly loved with her whole black heart. A black heart that only reacted to gold.
She really was a piece of work. If nothing else she did live up to the reutation that the women of the Prewitt line were said to be like. Ah her mother would be so happy if she heard.
So with thoughts in her mind, she rubbed her thighs together feeling a slight electric jolt run through her body and pulled out some of her best parchment, perfume, and quill. The ink was one she bought at an 'adult' store in some out of the way shop.
That was one weird shop to, it had booths with screens that raised for money and then lowered after so long, and in the side walls there were holes drilled or cut that would allow...well glory to come about, you could say!
Dear Dean, I hope that this letter finds you fine. I was going to meet you this weekend but as I am moving to a secret location a few miles from Diagon Alley to the West, I will not be able to meet you as I do not have the sickles and knutts that it would take to get there, and since I can not have guests, we would have no where to 'talk'. I really hope that we can...
Chapter Two: PREVIEW
Harry had heard his Uncles alarm clock go off and literally flew off of his waffer thin mattress and into his clothes, his feet never hitting the floor. He just knew it, today was going to blow since he was late in waking up, hence no breakfast would be ready for his uncle. Better late then never. Right.
A/N: Got the first hundred pages written just wanting to get a feeling if anyone would read another chapter or if it will fall to the dead pile with the others I started and never finished! Leave a review or message. Sorry no Beta on board...yet. HINT!
