QUEST FOR FREEDOM


By Fire


Prologue


"You ask, what is our aim? I can answer in one word:

It is victory, victory at all costs, victory in spite of all

terror, victory, however long and hard the road may

be; for without victory, there is no survival."

Winston Churchill


It was an ordinary night. There was an autumnal chill in the air, and a carpet of brown leaves on the ground, which you might expect since the time was just before midnight on October thirty-first. A tabby cat with curious markings around the eyes was sitting rather stiffly, on a brick wall which separated the driveways of two houses marked Number Four and Number Five. It was an ordinary street in an ordinary suburban neighbourhood, filled with row after row of box-like houses with perfect square lawns, back and front. Nobody could have ever imagined that anything extraordinary could occur here, and yet that unexpected, extraordinary event was about to occur.

A tall old man appeared, seemingly out of thin air, on the street corner, and suddenly all the lights seemed to vanish from their homes behind the glass of the street-lamps. The old man, now just a dark blur, approached the house called Number Four. Without warning the tabby cat disappeared and in its place was another dark blur. This dark blur took the shape of a stern looking woman, who appeared to be deep in a whispered conversation with the old man.

A few minutes later, a roar was heard in the skies, and a bright headlamp lit the way of a motorcycle flying above the roofs of the houses to make a fairly smooth landing in the street in front of the man and woman. An enormous man climbed off the motorcycle. He was at least twice the height of an ordinary man, and he had hands the size of dustbin lids. He was carrying what appeared to be a bundle of blankets, which he handed gently to the old man. The woman bowed her head to look at the blankets, before the old man walked slowly up to the doorstep of Number Four. Slowly and carefully he placed the bundle on the doorstep. The bundle contained more than blankets, though. It was a baby. The baby had a nasty cut on its forehead shaped like a lightning bolt, yet it seemed to be sleeping quite peacefully. The old man bent down and placed an envelope on top of the blankets. Green curly writing on the envelope read:

Mr and Mrs V Dursley

The old man stepped back, and the three adults stared sadly at the baby for a moment before turning and leaving in separate directions. As the giant man rode down the street on his motorcycle the road sign was briefly illuminated, giving a name to the street where these events had taken place.

An ordinary street, in an ordinary neighbourhood, on an ordinary autumn night had just witnessed something extraordinary. Certainly, tomorrow, something would be different in Privet Drive.


The sign above the gate read Little Hangleton Cemetery and -- as should be expected of a cemetery -- it was usually a peaceful and quiet place, but something was stirring. An eerie glow was lighting the dark sky above the graveyard, and all the usual night creatures had stayed far away.

Suddenly, two teenage boys, each clutching one handle of a large trophy, crashed to the ground out of the sky, just feet from a huge monument of a grave bearing the name Riddle. As they got to their feet, a little man carrying some sort of bundle stood facing them from several metres away. He stretched out his right hand and there was a flash of green light and a rush of wind, and the taller of the two boys crumpled to the crowd. The other seemed to cry out in anger or pain.

Within moments the man had him tied to the Riddle grave, as the boy appeared to have injured his leg. The little man dropped his bundle into a large cauldron full of a simmering and glittering liquid. For the next few minutes he moved about dropping various items into the mixture, and then, a man rose from the cauldron.

And the boy's eyes widened in horror.


Upon hearing her son's cries, Lily Potter woke her husband and together they rushed from their bedroom into the bedroom occupied by their son, Harry.

"Harry!" his mother said, approaching his bedside. "Are you alright?"

She sat down on the edge of the bed and proceeded to stroke her son's head.

"I'm fine," said Harry angrily, pushing her hand away. "It was just a dream."

"About Voldemort?" asked his Dad.

"Sort of," said Harry. "First I dreamed about Albus leaving a baby at a house in Privet Drive. You know the one. I've been dreaming it for years. And then I dreamed of Voldemort rising from a cauldron."

"Like a regeneration potion?" asked Lily.

"Yes," said Harry. "But I don't understand. How can Voldemort be regenerated if he's never been dead? I've never had that dream before."

"I think it's about time we told Albus about these dreams," said Harry's father.

"I think you're right, James," said Lily. "Are you sure you're alright, Harry?"

"Mum," said Harry, exasperatedly. "I'm twenty-one years old. I can cope with a bad dream."

"Alright," said Lily. "You've got a meeting with Albus in the morning anyway. Maybe you can mention it to him then."

"I don't think so," said Harry. "He's going away again tomorrow, he's just got to give me my mission first then he's off."

"He's never around much, is he?" said Lily.

"One day he's not going to be here when we really need him," said James. "And then there'll be hell to pay."

"He's got important stuff to do," said Harry, sticking up for his mentor.

"I just wish he'd tell us what he was up to," said Lily.

"He's doing the best thing, Mum," said Harry. "Let's face it. These days no one knows who they can really trust."

"He trusts you," said James.

"He doesn't really have a choice, does he?" said Harry. "Ever since Neville…" Harry paused and touched the fresh cut on his forehead – a cut he'd received battling Voldemort a few days ago alongside Neville. "I'm the one that's supposed to kill Voldemort, so Albus has got to give me as much information as he can if I'm to stand a chance."

"We should try and get some sleep," said Lily.

She stood up and left the room with James following close behind her. And as Harry Potter drifted back of to sleep, somewhere many rooms, corridors and floors away inside the stronghold of Hogwarts Castle, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore awoke from the very same dream…


A/N Okies. I know this story seems very AU, but stick with it. I don't want to give away the ending but I think you'll enjoy it. Please review, even if all you have to say is a tirade of criticisms, although I hope it's not. I'm hoping to update once a week as I'm well ahead with the writing. Thank you to Bill for the beta read and for clearing up all my very stupid mistakes. Anyway, thanks for reading!