This is for anyone who read Harry Potter and the Innumerable Consequences, or whatever the hell I called it. This is the same story. I was really unhappy with the way it was going and with all the important stuff I had forgotten, so I started it again. This chapter is completely new, and every chapter (as far as I know) will have lots added to it, so it is worth it to read it again, I guess.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my own, pitiful self.

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Harry Potter was not like other fifteen year old boys. For one thing, he was not really fifteen any more, he would be turning sixteen the next day; but there was another thing. Harry Potter was a wizard. And a very good one, at that.

Harry had lived with his horrible aunt and uncle since he was one. He had been attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry since he was eleven. But this summer was different from the last four. Harry's aunt Petunia was working him harder than she ever had before. He didn't even know how she found so much work for him to do; she always kept an orderly house, there couldn't be that much to do. But it seemed like she and Uncle Vernon wanted to make sure Harry never had time to himself. They had always been worried about Harry's friends coming to Privet Drive; especially after the Weasleys had come twice, and an entire crew of wizards had come the previous year- though the Dursleys hadn't been home; but now it was different. Mad-Eye Moody, a very frightening Auror and member of the Order of the Phoenix, had threatened Uncle Vernon only a month ago, and Harry ha been instructed to send post every three days so they would know he was safe. Uncle Vernon seemed to take this as a personal attack, and made sure Harry could not send more than those scheduled letters, and made sure he had no time to write any others.

"Harry Potter!" Uncle Vernon's voice boomed down the stairs. "Breakfast!"

Harry reached over and put on his glasses. His tiny, messy bedroom quickly came into focus. His snowy owl, Hedwig, hooted in her cage. Harry put his hand to his forehead for a moment, feeling the heat surge from his scar. He didn't know what the dream he was having now was about, but he couldn't ignore it. With a groan, Harry got out of bed and put on his a worn out sweatshirt that fit him like a sack, and held his too large jeans up with an old belt. He rolled his sleeves four times so he could use his hands before going downstairs.

"Come on, boy," Uncle Vernon said over his newspaper, "grapefruit. And don't try and sneak yourself the biggest quarter."

"Aren't quarters supposed to be the same size?" Harry asked innocently.

Uncle Vernon glared at him but didn't say anything as Harry picked up a knife and cut up a grapefruit. Harry sat down at the table as far away from his cousin Dudley as possible. This was exceedingly difficult, as even with a the dieting that Aunt Petunia insisted on when her little Dudders was home for the holidays, Dudley still weighed about the same amount as Harry's entire dormitory put together – after they ate a feast.

"Well, Dudley, what are you doing today?" Uncle Vernon asked, not actually listening for his son's answer.

"Going out for tea tonight." Dudley grunted.

"The Polkiss'?" Vernon asked.

Dudley nodded, looking at Harry's grapefruit quarter with his pudgy eyes. Harry sighed and passed it to him. Harry normally would have laughed at his uncle's gullibility, but it just wasn't funny any more.

Harry didn't find very much funny any more. In fact, he suspected it would be quite a while before he was actually happy. He had been conversing with his best friends, Ron and Hermione, all summer (against Uncle Vernon's wishes, of course), and with actual members of the Own, Lupin, Mad-Eye, and Tonks.

None of them could tell him anything. Anything that would be of any use to Harry was too delicate to be sent in owl post, and there wasn't much else to say.

Also without Uncle Vernon knowing, Harry received a subscription to the Daily Prophet. The newspaper was finally acknowledging the fact that Harry had indeed been correct and Voldemort had indeed returned. The Prophet often spoke of Harry now, nut not in the disparaging way it had the year before. The wizarding world believed him now, and it was a good thing. The Dementors, the guards of Azkaban, had left the Ministry, and many of the Death Eaters who had been imprisoned in Azkaban had been released, though Harry had assisted in the capture of about five of them in June.

Dumbledore had told Harry to go to Privet Drive and wait to be retrieved from the Order. As much as Harry wanted to believe Dumbledore, he had trouble with it. He couldn't believe that Voldemort couldn't get to him at Privet Drive. He couldn't bring himself to believe any of Dumbledore's promises. Dumbledore had always been right when he told Harry to do something, which was the only reason that Harry was still at Privet Drive; but Dumbledore had shown weakness to Harry. He had shown Harry his mistakes, and now Harry couldn't accept everything else he did.

Dear Tonks, Lupin, Mad-Eye, and everyone else:

When am I coming?

Harry

Harry had sent this letter many times. But every time, the answer was the same.

Soon, I expect.

I don't know Harry, we have to wait for Dumbledore.

We should be seeing you soon, Harry!

Just sit tight and keep out of trouble, we'll be there for you soon enough.

Harry was sick of waiting. He had told them that, he had told Ron and Hermione in their letters (he deduced from what Hermione said that they too were at Grimmauld Place), and yet nothing happened.

Harry went walking that morning. It was a rare occasion that Aunt Petunia could find nothing for him to do, and Harry slipped into the drizzle outside before she could think of anything. He walked down Mangolia Crescent and turned onto Magnolia Drive. He went was just strolling down Wisteria Avenue when he saw someone.

A little old lady, her hair done up and kept under a rain bonnet, a heavy looking bag thrown over her shoulder as she hobbled down the street.

"Mrs. Figg!" Harry called out to her, running over to her.

She looked up. "Harry, what are you doing out?" She said sharply when he reached her.

"I went for a walk to get away from Aunt Petunia." Harry said. "Look, I was wondering if you knew anything…"

She cut him off. "You shouldn't be out and about! How are you supposed to know who's on guard? What if it's that lout Mundungus Fletcher and he's skived off to go do illegal dealings? How will you protect yourself then, eh?"

Harry sighed. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Figg, I won't do it again."

She nodded curtly. "Very well. Come on then, carry my bag and I will tell you what I can."

She swung the bag off her shoulder and into Harry, almost knocking the wind out of him. He could tell by the clattering it made that it, as always, was filled with cat food.

"Well," Mrs. Figg said, walking quickly, "I can't say I know very much, probably not much more than you."

"I doubt it." Harry muttered under his breath.

"No don't go getting sulky on me, I'm not a member of the Own, I'm a squib, and that means I'm not let to know very much!" She said, wagging her finger in his face. "Well, I know that Dumbledore has been working with the Ministry for a while, trying to work out all the details. This is a war, Harry, the Second War, and the Ministry is very behind. Their dilly-dallying around the facts has lost them precious time. They have lost the Dementors, and most likely the giants. There have been rumours that they have almost lost the goblins, but those have been proven as untrue."

Harry remembered the Quibbler that Luna Lovegood had been reading upside down that spoke of Fudge assassinating Goblins. Was that the rumour Mrs. Figg was speaking of?

"The Order has been recruiting, and having a right difficult time of it, too. They've managed a few more Aurors, a couple of other wizards as well. But it is difficult. The Order is a very secret thing, meaning that when people join, it takes a long time before they are actually allowed in headquarters, what with the chances that they are going to give information away, or that they just aren't up to the Order's standards."

Harry nodded. "Lupin said that it's important that all of the members of the Own be fully qualified wizards."

Mrs. Figg nodded. "Indeed. It's equally important that they are good at what they do." They walked up the front steps of her house. "Well, Harry, that's all I know." She put out her hand, and Harry returned her bag to her. "Oh, by the way, Harry, someone will be coming to retrieve you in a few days."

She closed her door in Harry's face.

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Harry couldn't sleep that night. The first time he fell asleep, he was woken by painful dreams. He saw Voldemort. He saw him pacing a room, lit only by a fire in a hearth. Wormtail was with him, and others. The circle of Death Eaters was surrounding him, as they had the night he had captured Harry. Empty spaces scattered the circle. Harry could see Voldemort talking, but could not hear what he said. A man stepped forward and bowed to the ground as Voldemort raised his wand.

Then Harry woke up.

He put on his glasses but kept his eyes pressed shut. His scar was burning white hot, and as soon as the pain receded in his forehead, he went to his desk and took out a piece of parchment and a quill.

He held his quill in his hand, inches from the paper, but the words did not come. With a sigh, he threw down the quill and took off his glasses and got back into bed.

He didn't sleep for the rest of the night. He knew he would have to tell Dumbledore about his dream when he saw him, but what if Mrs. Figg had been wrong? What if no one came for him?

Harry had no choice but to trust what he was told, as much as he didn't believe it, and he finally fell asleep minutes before his birthday.

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Well, there is chapter one. As I said before, this story is the same as Harry Potter and the Innumerable Consequences, which I deleted so I could redo it and make it better. The next chapter is what the first chapter was.

Enjoy, and please review!

-unolimbo