A/N: This is the COMPLETELY REDONE version of this chapter. If you read it before and thought it was horrid, I agrre completely. Thanks to my wonderful beta reader over the the Mugglenet Fanfiction Forums, AlexisTaylor, this chapter now MAKES SENSE. A big round of applause for my beta.
Harry Potter and the Second Voldemort War
Chapter One:
"Plain, Boring, and Normal"
Living in Little Whinging was like participating in a lifelong competition. The contestants were arranged by household, each struggling and gnashing their teeth to achieve the pinnacle of success; the ability to say of themselves that they were plain, boring, and normal.
The streets were straight, smoothly paved, and respectfully named. Square houses stood behind pristine, rich green lawns. Gleaming cars sat in driveways, displayed to the public as prizes of wealth and respectability. Televisions spilled the news out of sterile sitting rooms and into obsessively cared for, overly fertilized gardens.
Of all the streets in Little Whinging, one consistently held the fiercest competition, and also caused the most scandal. That street was Privet Drive, and both the competition and the scandal came from the cleanest house on the street: Number Four.
The Dursleys, who inhabited the house, were a mystery to most of the local residents. Vernon Dursley was the director of a firm that made drills, and it was said that he was very good at what he did. He was a robust man; wide and solidly built, with almost no neck between his large magenta face and his large, puffed-up chest. His pride and joy rested on the things: his normality, his son, and his moustache.
Petunia Dursley was a thin, horse-faced blonde. She had a rather squeaky voice, and could be relied upon for the latest scrap of gossip that flew through the neighborhood. Her neck, which she liked to consider elegant (and other people compared to that of a rubber chicken) was nearly twice as long as necessary. People joked (quietly and behind their hands) that Vernon and Petunia had hoped to balance each other out in that respect.
Dudley Dursley, their son, was very popular with the other boys his age; he was, after all, the head of his own gang. Though his mother still called him childish and embarrassing names, his street name was Big D. He was famous as the boxing champion of the last two years, and for beating up young children while smoking on street corners.
As the children were usually too scared to say who beat them up, Dudley's nighttime activities had yet to affect his parent's standing in the social food chain. No, the reason Number Four was the center of scandal in the neighborhood was the fourth member of the Dursley Household.
Harry Potter was a skinny boy, who looked like a mouse in the cast-off elephant skins that were Dudley's old clothes. Petunia was Harry's aunt, and by all accounts the Dursleys shouldn't have taken in their nephew to begin with; he was said to be trouble. It was common knowledge around town that he went to St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys, and anyone who saw him sulking around would have to agree.
He looked quite a mess with his black hair sticking up all ways and his pale face turned down towards his feet. He could be seen traveling the roadways after dark, or sitting in the park staring into space. His green eyes were blank behind round glasses that became more and more beat up as the summer wore on.
No one liked Harry Potter, and it was assumed that he returned the favor. Had anyone bothered to pay attention to him beyond yelling at him, though, would have noticed that he seemed to have a sort of truce with one person in town. Batty, old, cat-loving Mrs. Figg was getting too frail to carry her tins of cat food back from the store, and Harry sometimes helped her. He would trudge along beside her, looking most reluctant, but speaking to her with the common respect one was supposed to bestow on an elder.
Harry was performing precisely this task on a Friday evening in the second week of July. The sun was beginning to lean towards the west, but it was still full daylight. The sound of the evening news spilled through windows that were open to allow in the warm breeze, and mixed with the carefree laughing of children. It was a beautiful day, the sky bright with only a few fluffy clouds that seemed bent on littering the radiant blue.
They walked at a brisk pace. The flip-flopping of Mrs. Figg's dirty, worn slippers seemed to echo off the neighboring homes. "Pick up the pace!" she screeched. "Children these days, lazy, every one of them."
He obliged by walking faster. Soon enough they were opening her weather-beaten door. The old woman stood aside to let him in, impatiently tapping her foot, her pink curler-laden head tipped to one side. Harry wondered if she'd ever taken the curlers out. She began to speak as he set the heavy bags on the countertop.
"I don't know what Fudge thinks he's doing," Mrs. Figg said as she shuffled around in her slippers, putting most of the tins away in a cupboard, "but he's turned the Ministry into a right mess. He nearly let Lucius Malfoy off, you know!"
"What?" Harry asked indignantly. "That's ridiculous. Half the Order saw him there, even if Fudge won't take my testimony. Malfoy was wearing a Death Eater mask, for Merlin's sake."
"Potter, that man has been in office since before you joined the Wizarding World, and I've never once seen him make a good decision. He does what the Old Blood tells him to, not what's right. You of all people should know that!"
Shrugging his shoulders slightly, Harry let out a half-laugh, half-sigh. It was a rather forced sound, not because he didn't see the humor, but because he hadn't laughed much in the last month. It had been the worst month of his life, which was saying something, considering the life he'd lived.
Harry Potter wasn't a criminal--at least, not in the non-magical world. He'd been in trouble with his own Ministry enough times, and would be again if they ever found out some of the things he'd done. But he most definitely did not attend St. Brutus's. It was a lie his Uncle had come up with to cover the truth.
Harry was a wizard who attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
He wasn't just any wizard, however. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, and though no
one but he and his Headmaster knew it, he was bound by Prophesy to save the
wizarding world or die trying.
He was forced to come live with the Dursleys after the dark wizard Voldemort attacked his parents. Harry was only an infant, but Voldemort tried to kill him as well. Harry's father dueled Voldemort and lost, and his mother had sacrificed her life to save her son. In doing so, she had created a magical protection so strong that the curse Voldemort tried to kill Harry with rebounded and weakened the evil wizard nearly to the point of death.
Voldemort was back in full power now after a long exile, and a nearly a month ago, he'd lured Harry to the Ministry of Magic's research center, the Department of Mysteries. Harry had escaped with his life, but he'd lost his godfather, Sirius Black. It was right after the fight that Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, had told Harry about the Prophesy.
It was quite a lot to take in all at once. The fact that his mother's magical protection only lasted while he lived with the Dursleys hadn't helped, as it meant he had to return to a place where everyone hated him. Neither had the other news; the wizarding world was at war, with attacks nearly every night, and the Ministry of Magic was spinning wildly out of control.
Noticing Harry's dismal mood, Mrs. Figg fell silent. She carefully opened several tins of cat food. The mewing came from all direction as the cats sauntered towards their mistress. Her hands shook slightly with age as she set each tin on the floor in turn, watching adoringly while they ate.
"The protections feel funny," Harry said suddenly. "They didn't tingle like that last week." He was referring to the spells put upon the old lady's home to protect her when she couldn't protect herself.
"Oh, don't worry dear," she answered with a smile. "They've been made a bit stronger is all. Dumbledore fixed them yesterday. The aura should settle by tomorrow afternoon."
Harry looked closely at her as she said this. He wondered if it made her feel sad, talking about magic like that. She was a squib- someone without magical abilities who was born to magical parents.
"Dumbledore was here yesterday?" he asked, wondering if the Headmaster had passed along any news of Harry's friends.
"Oh, that reminds me," she said brightly, "he left your O.W.L results and letters from your friends. He said the other Hogwarts letters were going out today, and he thought he'd spare the owl a trip."
"You've had my O.W.L results since yesterday and you didn't tell me?" he asked with mild exasperation. She clucked her tongue at him, causing him to shrug apologetically. "I suppose a day won't kill me. May I have them now?"
"Oh, I suppose I could send a search party for them." She bustled out of the kitchen and Harry followed. He shifted his feet impatiently while she searched through many desk drawers, looking for his letters.
"It's amazing, the mess that can collect in one day," she said, when she finally found his three letters under about ten others. Harry murmured something indistinct and held out his hand for the envelope.
He felt as though a group of Cornish Pixies had just been les loose in his stomach. Sinking into an old armchair, he slit the seal open with a feeling of foreboding.
Ordinary Wizarding Level Results For:
Harry James Potter Results Key: O--Outstanding E--Exceeds Expectations A--Acceptable (last passing grade) P--Poor D--Dreadful Official O.W.L. Marks: Transfigurations- Theory: E Practical: E Overall: E Defense Against the Dark Arts- Theory: O Practical: O Overall: O Charms- Theory: E Practical: O Overall: E Potions- Theory: E Practical: O Overall: O Herbology- Theory: A Practical: E Overall: E History of Magic- Theory: D Practical: N/A Overall: D
Astronomy- Theory: A Practical: P Overall: A Care of Magical Creatures- Theory: E Practical: O Overall: O Divination- Theory: P Practical: P Overall: P This score has been curved in your favor due to unusual events. The overall score is derived by averaging the theory and practical marks. Should you have any problems with your score, please contact the Education and Scoring Department of the Ministry of Magic.
Harry read through the letter twice in quick succession before he managed to calm down enough to read it properly. The O.W.L.s were the first of two sets of examinations that would decide what he would be able to do once he left Hogwarts. As he settled down to read through the letter a third time, he felt a grin spreading across his face for the first time since the Weasley twins left Hogwarts.
"Well? How many O.W.L.s?" Mrs. Figg asked, coming up behind him.
Harry swiveled around in his chair so he was grinning up at her. "Seven," he said with some satisfaction. "And three Os. I barely scraped by on Astronomy, and I failed History of Magic and Divination."
"A big loss, that," Mrs. Figg said sarcastically. "It's always a source of pleasure to be in the presence of such great fraudulence."
Harry grinned wider. "I got into every N.E.W.T. class I'll need to be an Auror," he said, reading his letter again. An Auror, or dark wizard catcher, was the only thing Harry could see himself being after Hogwarts, but it was a feat to even pass the entrance exams. Harry would be carrying a heavy workload for his last two years of school, but he was willing.
"Marvelous! Would you like a biscuit to celebrate?" she bustled over to the tin before he could refuse.
Smiling kindly, Harry answered, "I'd love one," and resisted the urge to cross his fingers behind his back. Mrs. Figg had a kind heart, but her biscuits always tasted as though they were several years old. He'd had the misfortune of eating them several times over the years, always hoping they'd finally taste edible. He was disappointed again, however, because the Ginger Newt she handed him was rock solid.
Hmm. not as hard as Hagrid's rock cakes, he thought, breaking a piece off with his teeth and chewing carefully. A half giant, Hagrid had stronger teeth than a normal human, which meant that his cakes were always inedible to Harry and his friends.
"Thanks. Were there any other messages?"
"I don't think so."
Harry glanced at the clock. "I was going to stop by the park on the way home. Do you mind if I go now?"
"Not at all. Thank you for helping me with the groceries. It's a shame we can't be friendlier about it. The Dursleys would kick up a fuss if they knew, eh?"
"Probably. I was glad to help, Mrs. Figg. It's nice to see a friendly face." Though he'd been cheerful since getting his letter, the last bit was said with slight resentment. Mrs. Figg was arguably the only friendly face in the neighborhood, if you didn't count Harry's pet owl, Hedwig. As her face was all pinched and lined with years of hassle and worry, this was sad knowledge.
"Enjoy your evening, Harry. You can come by tomorrow if you want!" Mrs. Figg called as Harry turned the handle and wrenched open the creaking door.
"I might have to take you up on that offer, Mrs. Figg. Good evening!" he said while squinting into the glaring rays of the slowly descending sun.