Harry Potter and the Order of the Mage

By B. Peter Adams

Chapter One: Disappearance

The man in the black robes suddenly appeared on the dark street. No one knew quite how he had appeared there. By all imaginations, his appearing there should have been impossible. People didn't just pop into thin air did they? Of course not. At least, not in the non-magical world. Of course, this man being magical would explain a great deal. The least of which being how he had suddenly appeared on Privet Drive, Surrey, England.

His magical presence would explain a great many other things. For instance, why the bushes planted up and down the street seemed to wither as he walked by. Or perhaps, why the lights on Privet Drive suddenly went out. But most importantly, it explained the startled shout that came from the smallest room of number 4.

The boy who occupied this room for two months a year, drew back, with his heart racing, panicked, and quickly drew his wand. This boy, like the man on the street, was indeed magical. And he was not just any magical person. He was mysterious in his own right, an enigma of the Magical World, perhaps THE enigma of the magical world. For this boy's name was Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the single person on the Earth to have survived the supposedly unstoppable killing curse.

When Harry had been one year-old, the most feared wizard of all time, Lord Voldemort had come to his parents' hidden house, murdering them, and then attempting to turn the same curse on Harry. And yet, although the child was only one, the curse failed, rebounding upon its master, and ripping Voldemort's soul from his body for thirteen years. Since that time, Harry had come out of a number of scrapes with Voldemort. Each year, Voldemort had in some way terrorized Harry, making it his ultimate goal to kill the boy, his ultimate revenge for the pain and caused for the interval of time between that fateful Halloween in 1981, and that June night in 1995. However, as of yet the evil sorcerer had failed in all attempts.

And now, he had come to finish the job. Harry recognized the stature of the figure on the street. The robes. The glowing red eyes. The snake like face. These were all characteristics of his mortal enemy. Harry had no idea what to do. He knew he was not powerful enough to take on Voldemort. He had neither the skills nor the knowledge to succeed. While Harry waited in his room, the house shook, as the door was blasted open with little warning.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL?" Harry could hear his Uncle, Vernon Dursley shout from the den. Harry dashed down the stairs with no abandon, hoping to stop Voldemort from killing the Dursleys. However, Harry heard the incantation, Aveda Kedevra, and realized that he was too late to save his uncle. As he skidded into the den, he shot a few blind spells at where he thought Voldemort was. Harry missed both times, and Voldemort ceased his torment of Harry's Aunt, turning around to face his opponent.

"Well, well, well. Harry Potter. We meet again," Voldemort said, chillingly, sending shivers down the teenager's spine. "I will certainly miss our yearly encounters. Or not. Aveda Kedavra!"

Harry jumped out of the way of the, rolled, and shot a stunning spell at his adversary. Harry felt a shot of adrenaline go through his body, fueling his senses, heightening them. Acting purely on instinct, Harry fired a flurry of hexes, jinxes and curses at Voldemort. Harry had no idea where these powers came from. The spells rained on Voldemort so quickly, he was forced to block them with a great many shields; each spell was powerful enough to shatter his shields.

Voldemort was confused, where had this power come from? Potter certainly did not have this power or skill the last time they met, and that was approximately a month ago, at the Department of Mysteries. Voldemort knew that the boy was tiring though, and answered Harry with his own offensive. With the spells flying everywhere, the house was falling apart. Chunks of the ceiling fell around the duelists, the air filled with dust and debris, the walls lighting up in many colors. Harry was successfully avoiding the multiple attacks, for a time.

I've got to think of a way out of this! Harry thought, where is the Order? Dumbledore must have someway of detecting the events at Privet Drive! However, help was slow in coming. Harry could see his Aunt, hiding behind the sofa, trying not to get hit. Suddenly, a large chunk of the ceiling fell. Harry saw it in slow motion; it was going to fall on his Aunt. Harry dove, shoving his Aunt out of the path of the falling plaster. Then suddenly, pain.

Harry was pinned beneath the plaster, unable to move. "Well, well, well, little Harry Potter. How noble of you. Too bad it has been a futile move. Aveda Kedavra." Voldemort casually pointed his wand, not at his nemesis, but at Aunt Petunia, who fell to the floor, as soon as the spell hit her. It was quick, painless, and final. She was most importantly, and clearly, dead. The curse demanded that.

Harry could not believe it. The last of his blood relatives, dead. Even if he hated the woman, he fell sorrow enter his heart. Then anger. Finally, his body began to shake, and his eyes began to glow with an unearthly green hue. Magic began to come off in waves from his core, which was rapidly expanding. The plaster keeping Harry on the floor suddenly flew around him, releasing him, and going after Voldemort, as a bludger might attack a Quidditch player.

"How is this possible!?" screamed Voldemort in panic. He had only seen anything close to this raw power in Dumbledore before. And truth be told, he thought that this raw magical power was more than Dumbledore possessed. This scared Voldemort to no end.

As Voldemort dodged the plaster, Harry slowly got up, seemingly unfazed by the damage previously done. With a cry of unearthly, unbridled anguish, Harry pushed forward his hands, unleashing wave after wave of pure magical energy in Voldemort's direction. Voldemort placed shield after shield in between himself and his foe, only to have each one fall after each strike. Voldemort was tiring, and quickly. Potter, on the other hand, showed no signs of slowing down. Voldemort realized that he needed to make a move soon, or flee. Fearing failure, he chose flight. Imagine Harry's surprise, when suddenly, where his archenemy had been not a second beforehand, was nothing but air.

With a second wave of fury and anguish, Harry began shaking once more, unleashing an unfettered wave of energy from within, before an explosion. And with that explosion, Number 4, Privet Drive crumbled to the ground, a crater standing in its footstep. And along with the house itself, Harry James Potter vanished in a display of power and destruction.

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry sat in his office, completing paperwork, and pondering the wonder of magic, life, and everything else that popped into his head. What else was an old man to do? If he had ceased his activity, his brain would have rotted long ago. At least, that was Dumbledore's opinion. And usually Dumbledore's opinions were correct.

Dumbledore sat, contemplating the silence of the castle, and harmony of the magic working in conjunction with each other to create a wondrous place. At the same time, a thought occurred to the old man that even as his surroundings were so peaceful, in other places, quite near, there existed no peace. Only war, destruction, and fear. Why, Dumbledore himself had just come back from an important mission to combat the evil that eradicated the peace; a peace that this old man so greatly craved. And he knew that others craved this peace as well. But he needed to shore up alliances, to stop this war before it truly started. Before chaos took over.

As if to illustrate his point, several alarms from various instruments on his desk began to sound. First, the intrusion alarm sounded, indicating that someone, unfriendly to the inhabitant at number 4, Privet Drive, had entered its premises. Then, as Dumbledore sat, still in shock, another alarm went off, indicating that the wards on said residence had shattered. This could mean only one of two things. Either the Dursleys were all dead, or Harry himself had died. It was now that Dumbledore sprang into action.

Leaping up from his seat, he took a hold of Fawkes' feathers. Fawkes, as a phoenix, could instantly travel anywhere through flame. "Fawkes, I believe someone needs us quite urgently right now." With a flash of fire, both disappeared from the office using the magic imbued upon Fawkes to travel through space nearly instantaneously.

Dumbledore opened his eyes, scanning the street that lay before him. It was dark, and there appeared to be no danger here. The Headmaster knew better, however; his instruments would not have sounded had there not been something severely wrong. Dumbledore saw a flash of red, and glanced up at his Phoenix, which was attempting to bring his attention to the house that lay behind him. The old man spun on his heel, and now saw the trouble on Privet Drive. There were numerous flashes of light coming from the windows. The glass of the windows were shattered, and it appeared that the house's very foundations were shaking, causing the structure itself to fall apart. Dumbledore thought it a wonder that he hadn't immediately honed in on such a disturbance on the street.

"Fawkes, alert the Order immediately! Harry's in trouble!" Dumbledore intoned, before a flash of fire alerted him to the phoenix's departure. Albus started forward, running towards the house, until he reached the edge of the property line, at which time an invisible barrier stopped him. Cursing, Albus drew his wand to take down the wards, which someone had mysteriously erected. These wards were not his own, for then he would have been granted access. Dumbledore had dealt with Voldemort's wards in the past as well, and therefore recognized that his enemy had not erected these. But then the question remained, who had erected these incredibly complex defenses in so little time? Had they previously existed without Dumbledore's knowledge somehow? These little questions nagged at the back of Dumbledore's mind.

The old man worked as fast as he possibly could, without setting off the wards. After a good fifteen minutes of work, he was just about to bring down the ward. Albus was amazed that the battle was still raging at all. Harry was putting up some fight. However, just as Albus took down the ward, somehow, miraculously, another sprung up in its place. Albus Dumbledore, one of the most respected wizards ever let out a curse, and set back into motion. However, it was only two minutes later that Dumbledore heard a cry of complete and utter anguish come from within the house. He worked faster, not knowing what the circumstances within the dwelling were.

The house appeared to still be standing, but just barely. The walls were coming down around whoever remained inside. Albus could see furious flashes of light coming from within, indicating that a battle still raged on. The man heard several pops behind him, indicating that help had finally arrived. Albus, without turning around, still working on the ward, spoke to his comrade, "Someone has placed a barrier ward on the property line of the house. I need help!"

A person with red hair stepped up, scrutinizing the spell work that made up the ward. It was Bill Weasley, curse breaker. If anybody could help crack this code, this was the man. Bill set into motion after a few moments of admiration as the complexity of the ward. Minutes later, just as they were about to succeed in taking down the ward, they heard another cry of anguish from within the house.

Albus looked in surprise; seeing that there were no longer any spells being fired. Voldemort had fled the scene, for that was Harry's cry. It was then that the ground began to shake. The very ground they stood on shook, the earthquake moving the entire street. The clouds began crowd overhead the house, pregnant with lightning. What remained of the house burst into flames, and began to deteriorate even further.

Muggles up and down the street screamed in horror as their houses shook. There were several loud pops, signaling the arrival of more wizards. Albus turned, and saw it was a mixture of Ministry Wizards. Evidently the Ministry had detected underage magic finally. Just as these wizards arrived, there was a brilliant explosion of magic, and they were all thrown off their feet, and back fifteen meters.

The tremors of the mysterious earthquake ceased, and the skies cleared, showing once more the stars. And on the plot where Number Four Privet Drive had been, stood nothing but a gigantic hole in the ground. No house, no belongings, no people, no animals, no nothing. And certainly, no Harry James Potter.