Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Chapter One - Of Depression and Threats

(AN)

Fifth year, Power. Depression, loneliness. One heck of a smart ass-tic Harry. Blah Blah blah, R/R.

Disclaimer: Wow, I own the plot. That's quite an accomplishment. Maybe SOMEday I'll own Harry Potter as well. For now, I'll just stick with the plot. ^_^

~*~

It was a perfectly normal day on Privet Drive. It was completely quiet, except for the fact that the Dursleys' would return today. Though the Dursleys' tried to be as normal as the rest of the drive's occupants, their nephew set them apart.

He would disappear every September, and not return till the following July. Some called it "magic", some called it other things, but only them and one other knew the truth.

Ms. Arabella Figg knew the truth - or some thought she knew the truth -, but she refused to tell them anything. Usually, she just replied with a vague; "Yes, how very odd he is." or an "Odd, indeed." Then she hastily changed the subject.

As the silver car pulled into number four, an even more immense quiet fell over Privet Drive. The only thing you could hear was Vernon Dursley shouting; "boy, unpack your things and get inside the house!"

The street was not surprised at all. This was nice treatment compared to how they usually treated their nephew. Shouts, insults, and even physical punishment were all normal for the Dursleys. It was quite obvious that they detested their nephew; which only set them apart more.

Meanwhile, things were not going well for Harry Potter in the Dursley house.

"I don't get it" -

"Go. Upstairs. It's not that hard,"

"But"-

"Go, now!"

"Fine," finished Harry, in various states of fury. Fine then, thought Harry, ignoring his stomach growl. If he wants to be a total bastard, fine.

What he and been trying to ask was whether or not he could keep his trunk and things in his room. It seemed that the threat of his "vengeful" and "dangerous" godfather had worn off over the year, for they were back to hating him with a full force.

When he reached his bedroom - looking as if no one had touched in a year, which they hadn't -, he already found an owl waiting for him outside the window; this only made him fume more. Damn, they aren't that worried, are they?

Over the past few weeks, Harry had figured out that it was easier not to care, then to care. He also decided that he was better off without his friends, because if they hung around him it would only mean more punishment for them.

He walked slowly over to the owl, untied the letter, and read;

Dear Harry;

How are you? Has your scar been bothering you any? Don't forget to tell me if anything is wrong, okay? I'm at Moony's right now, don't worry I'm fine. I'll be waiting for an answer. Hope your well; don't let the Muggles get you down.

It wasn't your fault you remember that,

Padfoot

What kind of letter was that? Harry wondered, throwing it aside. Of course it was my fault, you dolt. He didn't really know why he was mad at Sirius; he just was.

No one understands it was my fault. If I hadn't been so stubborn - and just took the damn cup - Cedric would still be alive. He figured he should at least write Sirius back, or he would worry more. After searching his room intensely for parchment—as his supplies were locked in the cupboard under the stairs—he finally found a piece big enough to write on. He wrote;

Dear Snuffles;

I'm fine, no need to worry. My scar hasn't hurt and I haven't had any dreams. I promise.

I hope you're having fun at Moony's.

Bye,

Harry

Of course, most of that letter was a total lie, but if it kept Sirius from worrying, it would do. Besides, lying was really the easiest way to hide the pain. It was with these negative thoughts he headed downstairs to see if dinner was ready yet. He was starving. Once downstairs, his Uncle regarded him with a disgusted look and said; "I thought I told you to go upstairs?"

"I did go upstairs—and now I'm back—, is dinner ready yet?"

"Who ever said you were getting dinner?" Uncle Vernon said evilly, grabbing a piece of toast and eating it right in front of his face. He laughed smartly when his stomach rumbled loudly.

"Please?" Harry tried, maybe - probably not, but maybe - politeness would work. It was Aunt Petunia that laughed this time, "look at that, Vernon; the boy is trying to be nice." Stupidly, Harry jumped to his own defense, "well, I certainly didn't learn it from you."

"Foolish boy, get back upstairs."

"Hello, I'm hungry, and I'm not going upstairs until I get food," he said toughly.

"Boy," Uncle Vernon said dangerously. "Go—Up—Stairs."

Tired of being pushed around, Harry stood his ground firmly, "no."

"What was that?" Uncle Vernon roared, getting to his feet and looming over Harry by quite some inches.

"I said, 'no'," replied Harry, as if talking to a stupid person - which, he, obviously, was.

"I've had about enough of your lip, boy," said Uncle Vernon warningly, something that always worked when he was younger, but not anymore.

Harry snorted, "likewise."

Uncle took one purple hand and - he noticed Aunt Petunia watching with a smirk - struck him across the face, hard. "What the," Harry started.

"Go upstairs, NOW!" Uncle Vernon yelled, staring at Harry with narrowed, beady eyes.

Confidence leaving him, and his smartness returning, he turned and headed towards the stairs. So much for food, Harry thought, rubbing his cheek.

What he would've given for Sirius right then. He suddenly felt bad about being so distant in his letter. The slap had taken its toll on Harry's ego, no matter how long he'd lived with the Dursleys', they hadn't physically hurt him since he'd started at Hogwarts.

But who was he fooling? He knew he deserved it, deep down inside at least. Soon, stomach still rumbling, face still stinging, Harry fell into an uneasy sleep.

It was a dark, gloomy place - wherever it was -. There were many peculiar things there, such as a church in a mobile home, or a ten-story grocery store. But most curious, and peculiar, of all was a castle. A huge, black castle whose tower reached almost to the clouds. With its broken windows and doors, it looked like something evil. I wasn't sure why, it just looked evil. There had to be a thousand vines crawling from as low as the lowest window to the top of the highest tower. There were various cracks in the brick, making me wonder how I could tell from such a long distance.

I did not ponder this for long, for something called me inside that castle. "Harry," it called, it had such a beautiful voice, and I could not resist the urge to go to it. I walked slowly into the castle with a dazed look on my pale, cold face.

No sooner had I stepped over the threshold on the entrance to the castle, did chaos ensue. There were people running and screaming, though I had not seen them from up on my hill. I wanted to help them, but my feet seemed stuck to the ground. I could not move. One pair specifically caught my eye, a woman and a child.

They were being chased by a black-clad figure wearing a white mask. I knew what it was at once: a Death Eater. Oh, how I wanted to help them, but my feet still remained unmovable. My hope was still lingering, but deep down inside I knew this was going to be another family separated at the hands of Voldemort. "Avada Kedavra," screamed the figure, getting tired of the chase. I felt her pain.

Harry awoke, gasping for breath, scar stinging like hell. "Damn," he murmured. He couldn't help but think "another life lost because of me". He looked at the broken clock on his beside table; 6:00. Maybe he could go downstairs and get something to eat before the Dursleys woke. Please, he prayed silently. Please let them be asleep. They weren't, but he decided he could still try again for some breakfast.

He walked to the table bravely - cowering on the inside -, and sat down as if nothing was wrong. Receiving the look Uncle Vernon gave him, he shuddered involuntarily, but stayed in his seat. Luckily, he got to eat - two pieces of burnt toast, but it was something.

"Now," said Aunt Petunia sternly. "You are to go weed the garden, and if you're done before lunch, I might let you eat." Mimicking her tone, but not saying anything, he headed quickly outside before Uncle Vernon could catch him. Of course, he thought. They get to pick the hottest day of the summer to make me weed. He didn't know for sure it was, but he would've been willing to bet it was.

The garden looked no better than a jungle, weeds growing everywhere and which way. Wiping his brow, he began to start weeding the "jungle" of a garden. It took him to 11:45 to finish, and he was baked with sweat. Maybe if he hurried, he could get clean in time for lunch, but he'd probably have to eat with Dudley, which really wasn't eating at all.

It turns out, he did indeed make it for lunch, but would've been denied if he hadn't threatened to mud-wash the floor. He knew he would have to deal with Uncle Vernon that evening, but for now it would do. His lunch was small - half a sandwich -, but still better than nothing.

The rest of his day was filled with work and chores - dusting the living room, mowing the yard -, and didn't reach its low till the evening. He was in his room, peacefully reading a muggle book Dudley had left in there, when he was called downstairs by his uncle. Uh-oh, here it comes, he thought, throwing the book aside and slowly moving downstairs.

Once downstairs, he was met by a very purple Vernon Dursley, who looked slightly drunk. Harry, though brave, had always feared Uncle Vernon, especially when drunk. He was capable of doing anything. The next two minutes went by in a blur, all he remembered was being slammed into the wall and a; "what's this rubbish about you threatening my wife?"

TBC...

A/N: Mwhahaha. Cliffie, my dear friend. Please review or I will not continue. Please? *puppy eyes* I'll r/r your stuff too.