A/N: I was reading over chapters one through five of this fic the other day, and found that I was grimacing half the way. It was utterly horrible, not to mention that the first few chapters had been uploaded in text only format. So I made a few changes here and there, particularly to the part when Fred, George and Ron Weasley escorted Harry to the Burrow. Then I combined a few chapters together, and put italics to what was necessary. And the result is this. I hope you enjoy it. Once again, The Green Flame Torch remains as the title, except I found out the other day that it wasn't going to be used as the sixth book after all. Oh well. ^^

Disclaimer: None of the characters, places and objects belong to me, except for the ones you don't recognise. No copyright infringement is intended against J.K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, Coco Cola, Scholastics, Bloomsbury, and any other companies.

Harry Potter And The Green Flame Torch

Chapter One

The Dark Lord's Move

"Wormtail! Answer the door, it must be her." The high shrill voice echoed over the dimly lit room.

"Yess … m … my … m-master … " a squeaky trembling voice answered.

"Hurry!" the first voice snapped.

Wormtail gasped in fright, then scrambled out of sight.

"My poor Wormtail, as timid and useless as ever …" the first voice said to itself with amusement, and yet there was a bitter tinge in its high, cruel voice.

The newcomer stepped into the room, followed by Wormtail, who was still trembling from the top of his bald scalp to the hem of his long crimson robes. The woman was clothed from head to toe in midnight black, and a hood covered her face.

"Wormtail, drag your miserable little soul away from this conversation, before I make sure that you won't have one to start with." The voice whispered softly, every syllable of his voice dripping with malice. 

Wormtail stammered a scratchy apology, then turned sharply around on his heels and fled.

The woman barely glanced in his direction. "Master, you called for me?" She asked, in a low and sinister voice, as though she had been possessed.

"Yesssss … " the voice hissed. "How did you go with the task I entrusted you?"

The woman shrugged indifferently. "It was easy, Master. I did not need much of the powers you gave me to break through the wall of spells Dumbledore put on his house …"

"And?" the high shrill voice was excited, eager to know what came next.  

"I found quite a few things that might prove to be useful …" A pair of red eye glinted ominously underneath the woman's hood. "I found a schedule on Hogwarts events, also a planner for the next Order of Merlin Meeting, and a key to a Gringotts vault."

"Excellent …" The voice hissed.

"Shall I show you the items?" she asked, beginning to lift up her wide sleeve.

"Yes, and hurry up with it!" This time there was no mistaking the irritation in the high voice.

But the woman stood her ground. "I want my pay first," she said firmly.

"Why, do you not think I will give you the ten thousand galleons you deserve?" The voice sneered back. "Show me the items now and I will pay you."

"Fine." The woman opened her large sleeve, and from it extracted a leather-bound book, and a small silver key that glinted in the lowlight.

She hesitated then, as though unwilling to touch the speaker. Then she swallowed hard and pressed the items into the palm that lay outstretched in front of her.

"I see you are not entirely loyal to me, as you are afraid to touch me …" The voice whispered lazily.

"No! I am simply overwhelmed at having the honour to touch your hand, Master," The woman seemed to have regained her composure, as her reply was confident and sardonic. 

Lord Voldemort (A/N: Who did you think it was?) ignored her, and started to open the book, in a manner not unlike a little boy tearing off the wrapper of his Christmas present. The diary was bound with a protection spell to prevent snoopers, but he broke through it easily.

The woman looked on curiously as Voldemort flipped open the cover and read the first line silently.

It didn't take long for his eyes to widen in shock.

"AHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!" The horrible scream rang through the night, shaking the land ferociously for miles around.

The woman shrank back in fright and cowered against the wall; her eyes glued to Voldemort's, which were burning with a fiery rage beyond hatred and evil.

His face contorted in fury, Lord Voldemort had her seized and pinned against the wall with his wand; his strength was so great she was suspended two feet off the ground. He tore off the hood that had previously hidden her face, to reveal rigid blonde curls framing a heavy-jawed face with jewelled spectacles.

"Pl-please … m-mast-ter, please cal-calm do-down … " she stammered, her heart pounding in her mouth, her whole body shaking with terror. Tears were fast streaming down her face, yet Lord Voldemort showed no signs of cooling down. 

"You fool!" He was so close to her their noses almost touched. She could see the lethal glint in his silted eyes, sense the killer instinct in his look, and the smell of his breath was vile and foul.

"See for yourself what you have achieved!" Voldemort said calmly, backing away from her face slightly, and pushing the diary in front of her eyes.

The woman read, with a plunge in her heart, the scathing words: "It takes more than this to outsmart Albus Dumbledore". The rest of the diary was blank, even though the words "Hogwarts Schedule 1995" was clearly written on the top. The book exploded into flames, and what remained of it flew to the ground in a pile of ashes. 

"No … no … it can't be …" she moaned despairingly, pleading with her flailing arms, but she knew it was too late … she was going to be killed.

"Please, please …  d-don't kill me … I'll do whatever y-you want …" the woman shrieked, panic dancing in her eyes.

The corners of Voldemort's silt-like mouth twitched convulsively. "No, I won't kill you," he leered. "You're too precious for that, you know …" and he allowed the woman to fall, leaving her to lie on the ground in a heap of cloak, sobbing with relief and hiccuping occasionally.

"Oh, thank you, t-thank you, master," she stammered, crawling over to kiss his feet frantically.

"Serve me loyally, and I will reward you with all the riches in the world," Voldemort said. Then what was his passive face hardened.

"However, make one mistake, move one toe out of line, and I will reduce you to ashes at the very least."

"Yes, master … w-whatever you say, my noble lord … "

Voldemort smirked at her, then his eyes widened slightly as he caught sight of the silver key he had dropped in his previous rage, which was lying on the ground.

"Hmm … the key to the Gringotts vault …" he said, letting the key float into his bony hands.

"Oh, master, I swear this one is real …" the woman gushed hoarsely, still clutching his leg. "Now you will see how useful I have proved to be …"

"Really?" Lord Voldemort looked at the key suspiciously, before it too burst into flames and was reduced into ashes in seconds. 

He looked down at the now silent woman, his eyes narrowed to slits. "You know what this mean, don't you?"

"No …  n-no, please don't, have mercy …" the woman gushed, dread filling her every vein. She looked up at Voldemort, shaking violently. "You w-wouldn't do t-that to me, would y-you?"

"You are nothing to me. What makes you think I will spare you?" the reply was harsh and callous.

"PLEASE! D-don't …"

Lord Voldemort ignored his servant's pleas, raised his wand and muttered a few well-chosen words.

There was a flash of green light, a rustling sound, then a thud as the woman's limp body hit the ground.

***

The crazy laughter filled the night, and suddenly Harry Potter opened his eyes and sat up in bed panting, his pyjamas drenched in perspiration.

Harry wiped the sleep away from his eyes, shivering. It was freezing for an August night. He got out from under his covers and pulled on his oversized ex-Dudley dressing robe, a myriad of thoughts buzzing away in his head. A quick glance at his luminous clock told him it was three minutes past midnight.

Somewhere in the night an owl hooted ominously. Harry shook his head to clear his thoughts, which were utterly confused. He had been having a dream, a crazy one where someone had failed to accomplish something, and her master had murdered her … the terror and panic that had shown in her desperate eyes as she said her last words were not something he could forget easily …

Harry brushed his hair away from his emerald-green eyes. "Why am I freaking out … I'm fine …" he assured himself as he surveyed his room, still panting.  "See, everything's normal! There's my broomstick, Firebolt lying next to my Quidditch Throughout the Ages, and there's my wand, next to my bedside table … and there's Hedwig, my snowy owl, asleep with her head under her wing in her cage … Everything's fine, Harry Potter! Stop obsessing!"

Harry ran his fingers through his messy black hair in frustration. Great, and now I'm talking to myself out loud in the middle of the night when everything's normal.

But Harry Potter wasn't normal. He was a wizard, and belonged to the world of magic. Which generally could be summarised in a few words: Spells. Wands. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Friends. Hermione. Ron. Sirius. Dumbledore, the headmaster …

Scenes from his dream flashed through his mind again: the woman screaming as she begged for mercy … her murderer's crazy laugh … surely there hadn't been a mention of Dumbledore somewhere … that deadly flash of green light …

He shivered again, and not just from the cold.

"Surely it couldn't be …" Harry wondered. "It couldn't have been Voldemort?" Just thinking about Voldemort gave him chills down his spine.

Lord Voldemort was the darkest wizard that had ever lived in a century. A long time ago, he had terrorised the world with his evil power, employed thousands of other ill-minded wizards and had killed numerous witches and wizards, not to mention normal none-magic people (Muggles) as well. Harry's face darkened, remembering that if it weren't for Voldemort, he would still have had parents …

Lord Voldemort had arrived at Harry's house one day when he was only one, and had attempted to kill his whole family. He had succeeded in killing Harry's parents, Lily and James Potter, but when he had tried to curse Harry, a helpless little baby, the curse had inexplicably rebounded back onto him. Lord Voldemort had fled, barely alive, yet not entirely human, and peace and serenity had returned to the Magic world.

Harry fingered his only remnant of that curse in the semi-darkness - a thin lightening-bolt-shaped scar on his forehead. Only in his first year at Hogwarts did he learn that the reason he had survived was because his mother had died to save him, thus leaving him an invisible protection. It was this scar, this thin unremarkable scar that had identified him to the Magic world as an international hero. He had almost defeated Voldemort when he was a baby, that is to say: almost. For Lord Voldemort had risen again last year, more evil and powerful than ever, with the help of his faithful servant Wormtail …

Harry felt a flash of anger. Wormtail, also called Peter Pettigrew, had been his parents' best friends. However, he had betrayed them heartlessly, and was now on Voldemort's side. The last time he had seen Peter was in his third year, when the truth had been revealed. But Wormtail had taken a chance and had fled back to Voldemort …

He cringed as he remembered the gory events from last year … Lord Voldemort rising from his cauldron, fully recovered and more power-hungry than ever … his supporters, the Death Eaters, cheering their master on as Harry fought a hopeless battle against the wizard he had so easily defeated thirteen years ago … He had survived by the skin of his teeth, but Cornelius Fudge, the Ministry of Magic had refused to believe the return of Voldemort, and had turned a blind eye on all that was happening.

Suddenly Harry's scar exploded in hot searing pain. He gasped, his hand over his scar, trying to keep his balance. The pain ceased as sudden as it had begun, and Harry flopped down on his bed, pale as a ghost and breathing hard. Something was wrong. Perhaps his dream was real. For Harry's scar would always start to hurt whenever Voldemort was feeling angry or extremely murderous … He listened for any noises from the next room, afraid to have woken any one up, but all was silent, except for the constant snoring from the Dursleys.

The Dursleys. Another reason for him to hate Voldemort.

He had had to live with Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley Dursley ever since he had lost his parents. They hated him with a passion that was only matched by his own dislike for them. Uncle Vernon had never bought him an item of clothing (he had to make do with oversized hand-me-downs from Dudley), never praised him for his schoolwork, and was always acting as though he did not exist. He was extremely fat, with a moustache and a potbelly.

Aunt Petunia had a face like a horse, and was the neighbourhood gossip. She never showed any affection for Harry like any aunt would, but instead, ordered him around the house and was always finding something tedious for him to do, even if it meant mowing the lawn for the fifth time that week.

And Dudley … oh, how he hated him … Dudley was a dead ringer for his father, only much more fatter. He was spoilt to the extent that his parents simply refused to see the fact that if he continued shoving food in his mouth the way an elephant would, he would either a) blow up, b) regurgitate everything out and form the biggest garbage dump in the world, or c) swell up like a smaller version of Jupiter, float into space, and be forced to orbit Earth forever. He also treated Harry the way he would treat a bug, and was always getting him in trouble, even though Harry wasn't responsible for half the things he was supposed to have done. 

Harry smiled to himself, remembering the shock and horror his relatives had went through when they had found out that he was a wizard, five years ago. They had tried to keep him out of magic, but had had no choice but to oblige when Dudley *mysteriously* grew a pig's tail.

Harry walked over to the open window in his room and found himself staring at the starry sky. If his dream was true … he shivered against the cold night air, wrapping his sleeping gown around him tighter. Voldemort had wanted the woman to break into someone's house … He frowned as he struggled to remember, but the details were blurred and vague. The woman had failed in whatever she had been doing, and Voldemort had put the death curse on her … He winced as a fresh breeze of chilly night air touched his skin, and moved away from the window.

Dumbledore was in the dream somewhere too, though he couldn't quite place it in. Surely the Headmaster of Hogwarts School wasn't visiting Voldemort … maybe Voldemort had mentioned him in his conversation with the woman. There was something familiar that woman too … something about the way she delivered her less-than-polite comments … and the jewelled spectacles …

Harry went over to his bag and took out a piece of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink. "Better to write to Sirius about my dream. He'll know what to do with it …" he said aloud to himself. Sirius Black was Harry's godfather. The wizard world still thought of him as a dangerous, ruthless murderer, who had killed several people with one curse, and had escaped from the wizard prison, Azkaban.  Back in his third year, Harry had thought that it was Sirius who had betrayed his parents, and had hated him with all his heart, but now he knew that Sirius was innocent, and cared for him like his father would have. He was Harry's next-of-kin now, (besides the … um … Dursleys) and he was the first one Harry would inform should he have any problems.

The Dursleys, who used to torment him in every degree on a day-to-day basis, now shrank away in fear whenever Harry reminded them that he had a cold-blooded murderer for a godfather, conveniently forgetting to add that he was innocent.

Harry placed his quill over the parchment hesitantly, unsure of how to phrase his words.

Dear Sirius,

I hope you are having a good time, wherever you are. Thanks for the birthday present, it's very nice.

Harry looked down at the fine gold chain hanging from his neck. Dangling from it was a minute sparkling hourglass.  Sirius had given him a Time-Turner, something that could transport the wearer through time. Harry knew that it was strictly forbidden to meddle with time or the such, but Sirius had told him that it would be quite useful in life-threatening situations. Nevertheless, Harry wasn't ever intending to use it. He knew how risky it was to change things from the way they were meant to be, remembering all the too well what had happened in his third year …

The last bird was so colourful, (he continued) Hedwig regarded it as dangerous, and refused to let it drink from her water container. Anyway, the Dursleys are treating me decently, thanks to you, and I have already received my Hogwarts letter.

He paused at this point, trying to think of how to sound not in the least bit disturbed, so as not to worry Sirius. The last time he had written to Sirius because of a dream, his godfather had went back to Hogwarts under great danger, and Harry still felt that he would have never forgiven himself should Sirius have been caught by the creepy, soul-sucking Dementors.   

I am writing to you because I just had an unusual dream. I dreamt of Vol - You Know Who conversing with a woman, then putting the curse on her. Dumbledore was mentioned somewhere in there too, but I couldn't remember where. And then I woke up with this crazy laughter ringing in my ear, and a burning sensation on my scar. Do you know of anything happening to Dumbledore lately? Please don't come back to Hogwarts like you did last time, it'll be suicide if you do so. I don't want you to worry about me; I just want you to keep me informed on what's happening. Promise me you won't come back no matter what - and take care.

Yours,

Harry.

There, Harry thought. He had been careful to leave out keywords such as 'killing' and 'scary' - that would surely freak Sirius out. He walked across the tiny room to where Hedwig was, and woke her up with a gentle poke. Hedwig woke up reluctantly, but immediately straightened up and ruffled her feathers importantly when she realised she had a job to do. Harry tied the parchment to her leg, released her from his window, and watched as Hedwig faded, first to a shrinking shadow in the distance, then disappearing completely from his view.

He hoped Sirius wouldn't get worked out again. Harry turned away from the window, fingering Sirius' birthday present. He hoped that everything was all right with Dumbledore and Fudge. The Ministry of Magic had never quite approved of Dumbledore's ways, but in his own opinion Harry thought that Dumbledore was the greatest wizard he had ever known.  

Suddenly the sound of flapping wings and frantic hooting disturbed Harry's thoughts, and he whirled around, startled, to see a tiny white and grey blur zooming around his room full-speed like a firecracker gone loose. It was screeching madly in a – well … owl-ish sort of way. Harry immediately recognised it as Pigwidgeon, his friend Ron's miniature pet owl.  

"Shush," he whispered frantically, and managed to catch the little fur-ball-thingy before it woke the Dursleys up. (He wasn't Seeker of his house Quidditch team for nothing.) Pigwidgeon scrambled furiously in his hand, and was about to start hooting again, (possibly in high spirits as he had accomplished the job successfully) when Harry held its minuscule beak together with his other hand.

"Listen, Pig, you've gotta keep quiet now, or my aunt would make fresh owl-stew out of you, with me as the side dish … " he hissed anxiously, straining his ears for any sign of movement from the rooms around him. His relatives hated more than anything that he was a wizard, and wizard-items or magic-vocabulary were simply not permitted, such as the words "wizards" or even "owl-post".  

'Pig' (even though he looked like one as much as Dumbledore looking like Dudley) put a lid on it almost immediately at the notion of being cooked alive. He held up his leg meekly, and Harry untied the folded piece of parchment attached to it. The diminutive owl flew into Hedwig's empty cage, and sipped water from her tray with a grateful sort of hooting.  

He recognised Ronald Weasley's untidy scribble almost at once.

Hey Harry,

How are you? I hope the Muggles aren't giving you a hard time. Is that fat boy - what's his name, Dudley or something? - still as bad as ever? If he is, then you go ahead and curse him, Harry - I'll make sure that my dad persuades his colleagues at the Ministry of Magic to cut you some slack so that you won't get another warning letter.

Anyway, did you like the birthday cake I sent you? I was going to let Pig bring along your birthday present as well, but I think the cake was quite enough for him. (After that trip he had to take a potion for his wing strain.)

But it doesn't matter, since you'll get it when you come and stay at our house for the remaining of the summer! Hermione is here as well. I'm sorry we don't have any special events this year, like the Quidditch Cup last year (that was sooo fun, wasn't it?) Please come, although I don't think you need any persuading. As for your Muggle relatives, I'm sure they'll be glad to get rid of you earlier!

I won't say more, send Pig back ASAP with your answer, and expect us at around four in the afternoon this Friday. (We'll be coming by car; so don't worry about your fireplace!

I'll see you at the Burrow,

Ron.

Spending the rest of the summer at the Burrow? Yes! Harry smiled to himself. Just one more day and he wouldn't have to see the Dursleys for almost a year. He realised there was another piece of parchment behind Ron's letter, with neat, proportioned writing across it. It seemed his other best friend, Muggle-born Hermione Granger had sent her letter along as well.

Dear Harry,

I wanted to add this part so that I can tell you something myself - I've been made a prefect! I had been a nervous wreck the whole summer, hoping I would be made one. My parents are quite proud of me. What about you?

Ron didn't get to be one (no surprises there, if I do say so myself) and I think he's a little annoyed with me, that's why he hasn't mentioned anything about prefects in his letter. Please don't mention anything about prefects while we're together, as I think Ron has been under a lot of stress lately, what with his mum being disappointed and all, and wouldn't want the extra blow. 

I arrived at the Burrow yesterday. Before that I had spent my holidays finishing all my assigned homework (even the Potions one, although I must admit that one was a killer.) I can't wait for school to start, I've been doing some extra work so that I would be ready for our O.W.L.S. examinations this year - they're extremely important. See you at Ron's house!

Love,

Hermione.  

Harry read Hermione's letter, frowning a little to himself. Poor Ron, he thought. Ron's brothers (besides Fred and George, the twins) had all been high achievers, with two Head Boys amongst them. Ron had always been feeling like he would never be quite as good as Charlie, Bill and Percy (now all working full-time). Not having been made a prefect, though not surprising, must have at least been disappointing to him and his parents.

Harry's letter had arrived weeks ago, informing him of books he would need. He hadn't been made a prefect, but that didn't affect him in the least. On the contrary, Harry was quite relieved, as the idea of having a high-achieving wizard in the family would have been too much for the Dursleys to bear.

"Going to stay with my best friends is exactly what I need to take my mind off Voldemort", Harry said to himself aloud as he hastily scrawled a note (Thanks, pal, I'll be there - whether the Muggles like it or not - Harry), tied it to Pig's leg, and let him fly off into the dark night.

Harry lay down in bed, feeling that it was okay to go to bed at last. He closed his eyes, with images of the dream - no - nightmare still flashing in his mind.

A/N: I hope this revised version is better. Go on to the next chapter!