Summary: Harry, with the help of Sirius, Remus, and his friends, uncover the mystery surrounding the Chest of the Magi. What exactly is this chest? What secrets does it hold? As if life wasn't complicated enough, follow Harry as he learns how to navigate through relationships, new and old, and experiences what it truly means to have a family.
Warnings: There is likely to be some time travel. Possible foul language and adult situations (nothing graphic).
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling. Sadly, I am not her. Some wishes will never come true.
AN: I have the basic idea of where I plan on taking the story, but it's just a matter of pulling it all together. I'll try to aim for at least one or two chapters a week.
I'm still trying to figure out how to format the story once I go to upload it. If you have any advice, I would greatly appreciate it.
Harry Potter and the Chest of the Magi
Privet Drive was a quiet sort of neighborhood. Normal houses lined the normal streets where normal families slept in their normal beds. Normalcy was valued highly in Privet Drive, and no family sought normalcy more than the residents of Number 4. The Dursley family worked extra hard to fit in with everyone else in the neighborhood. Although, they wouldn't need to work as hard at it, had it not been for Mrs. Dursley's nephew, Harry Potter.
You see, said nephew, was a wizard, a real potion making, broom riding, wand holding wizard. Being a wizard was as far from normal as one could get…or so the Dursley's thought. For ten years, the Dursley family put as much effort into keeping Harry as down trodden as possible as they put into maintaining a façade of normalcy for their friends and neighbors. They wouldn't survive the scandal that would ensue should their secret get out.
You'd think that being a wizard was what made Harry unique and special. Unfortunately, for Harry, this was not the case. Harry was unique even in the wizarding world; most witches and wizards would tell you that Harry Potter is one of the most famous wizards in the magical community.
What was he famous for, you may ask? Well, when young Harry was only fifteen months old, his parents had been murdered by a dark wizard, known in the magical world as Lord Voldemort. After casting the death curse on Harry's parents, Voldemort turned to baby Harry, who sat in his crib clutching on to a small stuffed dog.
Emerald eyes met the dark ones and an intense flash of green light encompassed the room as Voldemort shot the killing curse at Harry. However, Harry didn't die. Instead, the curse rebounded upon the dark lord, expelling his soul from his body, leaving him as nothing more than a phantom. Harry had been the first, and only, person to survive the killing curse. Though the curse struck him, he survived and was left with little more than a scar on his forehead. All around the wizarding world, witches and wizards raised their glasses to Harry Potter, the boy who lived.
Fourteen years had passed since that fateful Halloween night. Harry, who was nearly fifteen, had grown a lot since then. His raven hair was just as wild and untamed as ever, and his emerald green eyes held the look of sorrow and a bitter understanding of the world around him.
The past fourteen years had not been easy on the boy who lived. His relatives spent the majority of that time abusing him. It wasn't physical abuse, but emotional and verbal, which was just as damaging. There is only so much a person can take of being called a "Freak" or "worthless" before they start to believe it to be truth.
Despite his childhood, Harry came alive at school. He made friends, and rivals, and sacrificed greatly for the well-being of the students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the wizarding world as a whole.
Four times, Harry fought against Voldemort. Saving the school from the eventual tyranny that would have come, had he come to power. The most recent struggle took place a mere month before the beginning of this story.
Harry, after having been kidnapped from an inter-school competition, found himself facing a newly resurrected Voldemort. It was a close struggle between Voldemort and Harry. Harry nearly lost his life in the encounter. Sadly, his fellow competitor and Hogwarts champion, Cedric Diggory, did not fare as well. Death truly came alive to Harry that terrible night. The guilt that he felt over Cedric's death overwhelmed him.
He was often told that it wasn't his fault. That he didn't know what was going to happen, and that nobody truly blamed him. Still, Harry wallowed in his guilt…which leads us to the true beginning of our story.
Currently, Harry could be found lounging upon his cot in the smallest bedroom of number 4. It was nearing two in the morning, but Harry was finding it to be near impossible to sleep. Whenever he closed his eyes he would picture the scene at the graveyard. He would relive the moments that lead up to the death of Cedric and the return of a much feared dark lord.
Body drenched in sweat, Harry rubbed his face tiredly and padded across the room, listening at the door for the sounds of his slumbering aunt and uncle. Releasing a sigh, Harry grabbed his trainers and made for the staircase.
Quietly tip-toeing down the stairs, Harry prayed to Merlin that his relatives didn't wake. Reaching the last step, Harry let out a sigh of relief, and made for the front door. Gently, turning the lock, he opened the door, trying to quiet the protesting door hinges, and stepped outside.
The summer air was refreshing against his clammy skin. The night was cool and crisp, and he hoped that it would help clear his head. Following the street down to the nearby park, Harry tried to make sense of everything that had happened. Try as he might, he couldn't come to terms with the unfortunate death of Cedric. He kept thinking of ways he could have saved the young man, but none of those ideas did him any good now.
Scuffing his shoe against the gravel, Harry made his way over to the swing set. Plopping himself down, he just closed his eyes, trying to forget all that was around him. The quiet was nice; he didn't have to hear the screeching of his Aunt Petunia, nor the shouts of his Uncle Vernon. He could just forget about everything, even if it was only for a few minutes.
Harry sat there for the next few moments in complete silence. The only noise being the creaking of the chains on the swing set as he gently pushed himself forward. Just as he was about to rise from the swing, he heard the sound of a twig snapping behind him.
Spinning around, Harry made a grab for his wand, only to find that he had forgotten it underneath the floorboard in his room. Despite his rather vulnerable position, he inched forward in an attempt to see what had made the noise.
Taking a deep breath, he went in the direction of the sound. The grass crinkled under his feet as he quietly made his way forward, squinting in an attempt to see, he noticed a stick laying on the ground, just a few steps ahead of him.
The closer he got, it became clearer, what it was. It wasn't just a stick, but it was a wand. He reached a shaky hand forward to grab hold of the mysterious wand. The handle still felt warm, as though it had been recently held. The tip of the wand was cracked, and you could see the dragon heartstring poking out. Giving it a small wave, Harry tried to produce light. The wand flickered a bit than completely dimmed. It was clear that the wand had seen better days.
Just as he was about to turn around and head back home, he felt a hand reach out and grab his shoulder. He was spun around, only to come face to face with someone he didn't expect to see. "You know," the man said "you might want to be a bit more careful about trying to use magic; it is the summer after all".