Author's Note:
This story is set in an alternate universe, and there are a few important differences to take note of. Basically, Harry's third year was exactly the same as canon except Hagrid never discovered Scabbers, so Sirius never dragged Ron into the Whomping Willow, and Harry, Lupin, and co. never found out that Sirius was innocent. Lupin still transformed, Ron broke his leg while trying to escape, Harry and Hermione lured Lupin away from Ron, and Harry was attacked by dementors. Later, Harry and Hermione used the time-turner to set Buckbeak free and save Harry from the dementors.
Everything else up to the third task of the Triwizard Tournament is the same (with obvious exceptions such as interactions between Harry and Sirius, etc.). Wormtail is the one who helps resurrect Voldemort, but Harry doesn't know who he is, having never seen him in the Shrieking Shack the previous year.
This story starts on Wednesday, 2 August 1995 (the day Harry and Dudley get attacked by two dementors in canon), five and a half weeks after the third task.
Chapter 1
Wednesday, 2 August 1995, 03h00
Harry awoke with a start. Reaching for his glasses, he sat up, trying not to think of the nightmare that had woken him. He looked at the clock on his bedside table, attempting to identify the clock hands in the moonlight. It was three o'clock in the morning — it wouldn't be light for another two hours. He groaned as he fell back against his pillow and stared up at the ceiling. This was the second time he'd woken up that night. He hadn't be sleeping well since the third task of the Triwizard Tournament, five weeks earlier. He thought of Cedric, who had been killed by one of Lord Voldemort's servants shortly before Voldemort himself had regained his body.
No, he thought angrily. I will not think of Cedric. He glanced around his room, looking for a distraction. He scowled as he saw a recent Daily Prophet. There was still nothing about Voldemort's return in the paper. Even the sightings of Sirius Black had dwindled. Harry thought about that night in the graveyard where Voldemort had summoned his Death Eaters. He wondered if Sirius Black had been there; if the man who'd betrayed his parents had been one of the Death Eaters whom Voldemort had not addressed.
Taking off his glasses, he rolled over drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
Wednesday, 2 August 1995, 21h30
"DIDDY! Diddy, what's the matter with you? Vernon? VERNON!"
Harry's uncle came galumphing out of the living room, walrus moustache blowing hither and thither as it always did when he was agitated. He hurried forwards to help Aunt Petunia negotiate a weak-kneed Dudley over the threshold while avoiding stepping in the pool of sick.
"He's ill, Vernon!"
"What is it, son? What's happened? Did Mrs Polkiss give you something foreign for tea?"
"Why are you all covered in dirt, darling? Have you been lying on the ground?"
"Hang on — you haven't been mugged, have you, son?"
Aunt Petunia screamed.
"Phone the police, Vernon! Phone the police! Diddy, darling, speak to Mummy! What did they do to you?"
In all the kerfuffle nobody seemed to have noticed Harry, which suited him perfectly. He managed to slip inside just before Uncle Vernon slammed the door and, while the Dursleys made their noisy progress down the hall towards the kitchen, Harry moved carefully and quietly towards the stairs.
"Who did it, son? Give us names. We'll get them, don't worry."
"Shh! He's trying to say something, Vernon! What is it, Diddy? Tell Mummy!"
Harry's foot was on the bottom-most stair when Dudley found his voice.
"Him."
Harry froze, foot on the stair, face screwed up, braced for the explosion.
"BOY! COME HERE!"
With a feeling of mingled dread and anger, Harry removed his foot slowly from the stair and turned to follow the Dursleys.
The scrupulously clean kitchen had an oddly unreal glitter after the darkness outside. Aunt Petunia was ushering Dudley into a chair; he was still very green and clammy-looking. Uncle Vernon was standing in front of the draining board, glaring at Harry through tiny, narrowed eyes.
"What have you done to my son?" he said in a menacing growl.
"Nothing," said Harry, knowing perfectly well that Uncle Vernon wouldn't believe him.
"What did he do to you, Diddy?" Aunt Petunia said in a quavering voice, now sponging sick from the front of Dudley's leather jacket. "Was it — was it you-know-what, darling? Did he use — his thing?"
Slowly, tremulously, Dudley nodded.
"I didn't!" Harry said sharply, as Aunt Petunia let out a wail and Uncle Vernon raised his fists. "I didn't do anything to him, it wasn't me, it was — "
But at that precise moment a screech owl swooped in through the kitchen window. Narrowly missing the top of Uncle Vernon's head, it soared across the kitchen, dropped the large parchment envelope it was carrying in its beak at Harry's feet, turned gracefully, the tips of its wings just brushing the top of the fridge, then zoomed outside again and off across the garden.
"OWLS!" bellowed Uncle Vernon, the well-worn vein in his temple pulsing angrily as he slammed the kitchen window shut. "OWLS AGAIN! I WILL NOT HAVE ANY MORE OWLS IN MY HOUSE!"
But Harry was already ripping open the envelope and pulling out the letter inside, his heart pounding somewhere in the region of his Adam's apple.
Dear Mr Potter,
We have received intelligence that you performed the Patronus Charm at twenty-three minutes past nine this evening in a muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of a muggle.
The severity of this breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand.
As you have already received an official warning for a previous offence under Section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 a.m. on the twelfth of August.
Hoping you are well,
Yours sincerely,
Mafalda Hopkirk
Improper Use of Magic Office
Ministry of Magic
Harry read the letter through twice. He was only vaguely aware of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia talking. Inside his head, all was icy and numb. One fact had penetrated his consciousness like a paralysing dart. He was expelled from Hogwarts. It was all over. He was never going back.
He looked up at the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon was purple-faced, shouting, his fists still raised; Aunt Petunia had her arms around Dudley who was retching again.
Harry's temporarily stupefied brain seemed to reawaken. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand. There was only one thing for it. He would have to run — now. Where he was going to go, Harry didn't know but he was certain of one thing: at Hogwarts or outside it, he needed his wand. In an almost dreamlike state, he pulled his wand out and turned to leave the kitchen.
"Where d'you think you're going?" yelled Uncle Vernon. When Harry didn't reply, he pounded across the kitchen to block the doorway into the hall. "I haven't finished with you, boy!"
"Get out of the way," said Harry quietly.
"You're going to stay here and explain how my son — "
"If you don't get out of the way I'm going to jinx you," said Harry, raising the wand.
"You can't pull that one on me!" snarled Uncle Vernon. "I know you're not allowed to use it outside that madhouse you call a school!"
"The madhouse has chucked me out," said Harry. "So I can do whatever I like. You've got three seconds. One — two — "
After a moment's indecision, Uncle Vernon whimpered and moved aside. Harry left the kitchen and headed toward the front door, pausing at the bottom of the stairs. Hoping he had enough time, he dashed up the stairs to his room and grabbed his invisibility cloak, money pouch, and robes, thankful that he'd sent Hedwig to Ron earlier that day. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he glanced at the kitchen door. Uncle Vernon was still standing there, glaring at him. Taking a deep breath, he opened the front door and stepped out.
Vernon Dursley stared at the spot his nephew had vacated moments earlier, torn between anger at what he'd done to Dudley and relief that the boy was gone and couldn't hurt him or his family anymore. Finally, he strode toward the door and shut it, locking it securely. Harry Potter was gone, and he would not be coming back.
Author's Note:
This chapter contains an excerpt from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix by J.K. Rowling which is used here in accordance with the Copyright Act of 1976, 17 U.S.C. § 107.