Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
Chapter 1: An Unexpected Visitor
Not a sound could be heard late one August night on cozy little Privet Drive. What could possibly disturb the peaceful serenity of this quiet street--with its glowing street lamps bathing every house in soft, orange light. And the balmy breeze that swept gently on. Nothing. Nothing in the world was bothering the sleepy street. Especially Number Four, Privet Drive. On the outside, this house was just as content as all the others, with its perfectly groomed grass and flowers. On the inside though, someone was stirring, someone was restless...
Fifteen-year-old Harry Potter sat wide awake at the kitchen table, hunched low over a newspaper and absent-mindedly drinking a cup of hot cocoa, which was now cold and somewhat forgotten.
"...Dark Mark flashing in the sky everywhere..." "...a popular London restaurant blasted apart..." "...countless people injured, some dead..." "...searching for something..." "...muggles, very suspicious..." "...you-know-who still at large..." Harry muttered bits and pieces of the latest stories to himself, which were splashed all over the front page of the Daily Prophet. A photograph of the Dark Mark glittered ominously back at him from the paper. Harry's stomach lurched and he raked his fingers anxiously through his disheveled black hair.
Harry was so wrapped up in his paper that he did not hear the loud stumping footsteps that descended the stairs and drew nearer to him. Nor did he notice the late hour of the night (or early hour of the morning).
In fact, he did not even notice that he was no longer alone, until he was jerked rudely out of his troubled thoughts by a less than welcome voice.
"Boy! What are you doing up at this hour?!" Demanded Uncle Vernon, his tired face awake enough to sneer at Harry with utmost dislike.
"Couldn't sleep," Harry muttered dully, recovering himself after having jumped a foot out of his chair and nearly spilling his cocoa on the floor.
"Well, perhaps you ought to try!" Spat Uncle Vernon, obviously thinking that Harry couldn't possibly be doing something sane (like reading the newspaper) at three o'clock in the morning. No, Vernon Dursley most likely thought he was up to some kind of no good, perhaps brewing up something nasty or plotting evil deeds.
"I have tried, and I can't sleep!" Harry insisted defensively, "Who could sleep at a time like this?"
"A time like this?" Vernon repeated slowly, "what on Earth are you talking about boy!" Uncle Vernon's face was purpling in anger.
"All these things that are going on in the world!" Said Harry, raising his voice to match Uncle Vernon's and feeling his face getting hot with frustration and impatience. "All of these horrible, disgusting crimes and dark acts, and--"
"Oh what rubbish," Uncle Vernon said dismissively, with the air of someone who was flicking a speck of dirt off of his shoe. "Dark acts, horrible crimes...honestly!" His eyes glinted malevolently.
"No!" Said Harry, positively shouting by now. He stood up so suddenly that he bashed his knee under the table and was soon met with immense pain, but he ignored it. "I mean, the things that are happening in my world!"
If Harry felt angry, that was nothing to the way Uncle Vernon looked. His now completely purple face contorted with a sick kind of fury. He glared at Harry though his tiny eyes and gritted his teeth. In a soft, deadly sort of voice he responded.
"I thought I told you never to mention this, this anomaly in my house!" His quiet, barely controlled voice was shaking with suppressed rage. Harry said nothing and only glared spitefully, a mixture of emotions running through him including a dreadful longing to be with a family to whom his existence mattered. He suddenly thought of the Weasley's and their warm, happy home. Harry felt a sharp pang deep inside of him and thought he was going to be sick. The next moment though, he paid dearly for this brief lapse of concentration.
"Your world indeed!" Uncle Vernon spat as he snatched the paper out of Harry's hand, which was now somewhat crumpled from Harry's tight grip. Uncle Vernon jerked it open and began to mutter aloud as Harry had done earlier.
"Muggles...Dark Mark...Ministry of Ma--" He had almost done it, almost said the forbidden "M" word. This seemed to anger him even further. "The very idea, what nonsense!" With that he threw the paper into the kitchen wastebasket and turned back to Harry.
Uncle Vernon's fat face was now inches from Harry's. Still standing up and with a defiant gleam in his brilliant green eyes, Harry stared back. "Go to bed," he told Harry slowly, in that same deadly voice he'd used earlier.
Harry didn't move, but continued to glare at Uncle Vernon. "I'm warning you boy, one more mention of that utter rubbish in this house and you will be very, very sorry indeed!"
Harry stared at him for a moment longer, his green eyes full of bitterness and hatred for this man (and for his wife Petunia and their unbearable son Dudley) whom he was forced to recognize as family, though they were the furthest thing from a real family that Harry could imagine. At last, still inches from Uncle Vernon's face, Harry whispered, "I'm already sorry," in that same deadly tone, but with quite a lot more bitterness in it as well. With that he turned on his heel and stomped angrily up the stairs--after quickly snatching his crumpled-up Daily Prophet from the wastebasket, much to Uncle Vernon's dismay.
* * *
Harry, still quite upset and very awake, paced the length of his large bedroom. He raked his hands through his hair again and sat down tensely on the side of his bed. Harry's eyes wandered to his desk where among all of the spell books, quills and parchment, there were six birthday cards.
Well aware of the fact that Harry had never had a decent or even acknowledged birthday with the Dursley's, Harry's friends had risen to the occasion. The first card was from Ron Weasley, Harry's red-haired, freckled best friend. It pictured a scene from a Chudley Cannon's quidditch match.
Harry gazed at the photo on the card as a bludger went pelting by. Photos and paintings in the wizarding world of course, moved.
Yes, that's right, Harry was a wizard. He was a good one too. For the past four years Harry had attended and boarded at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There he learned everything from potion making to charms to defense against the dark arts. Harry had never felt more at home anywhere (and especially with his despicable relatives) than he did at Hogwarts.
Next to Ron's card was one from Hermione Granger, Harry's other best friend. Hermione was a smart, somewhat bossy girl with long, bushy brown hair. She had charmed the jumping frog illustrations on her card to actually jump (and croak softly). Harry had to immediately find a way to stop the croaking as the Dursley's were starting to get very upset by the animal noises that came from his room--mainly from Hedwig, Harry's beautiful snowy owl.
The next card was from Hagrid, Hogwart's half-giant groundskeeper and "Magical Creatures" class instructor whom had been Harry's first friend really. The card featured a horrible monster of some sort that Hagrid most likely thought was cute and cuddly.
Next to Hagrid's card was one from Sirius Black, Harry's godfather. This card had a picture of a huge black dog on the front, which strongly resembled Sirius in his animagous form. Harry was deeply comforted by the sight and felt as though someone was watching over him.
The last two cards were from Harry's co-champions in the Tri-Wizard Tournament from the previous school year. Fleur de la Cour had sent him a beautiful card with an equally beautiful message on the inside. Harry picked it up off of his desk and read it again, Fleur's voice coming into his head at once.
"'Arry, I 'ope zat you 'ave a nice birthday and zat you are well. I will enjoy seeing you again zis school term. Dumbly-dorr 'as given me zee position of Madame Pomphrey's assistant in zee 'ospital wing. See you soon. Love, Fleur."
The last card was from Victor Krum and also pictured a flashy quidditch scene on the front. Harry was deeply touched by the last two cards, as he had formed a special kind of bond with the other two champions last year--especially after the death of Cedric Diggory, Hogwart's other champion.
It still pained Harry to think about the events leading up to and following Cedric's death. It had been two months, but any amount time would not prevent the horrible scenes to be burned into his memory forever. Harry's thoughts jumped from event to event. The maze to the Tri-Wizard cup, the portkey, Cedric being killed by Wormtail, his conversation with Cedric's parents, seeing shadows of his own dead parents, Voldemort's re-birth.
Harry shuddered. Voldemort...the name echoed unpleasantly in Harry's mind and he glanced automatically to the window. He often did this as if Voldemort's ugly head was waiting there behind the glass, staring in with those frightful red eyes. Harry brushed this thought aside immediately and scolded himself for even imagining it.
The very idea was absurd, Voldemort didn't know where Harry was, how could he? Although Harry despised the Dursley's, he never forgot that he was safe here.
But where was Voldemort? Was he ultimately responsible for all of the strange and awful things that were going on lately? Harry thought this was probably true, since he knew that Voldemort had come back to power and was not yet defeated.
Harry stole a glance at his bedside table and noticed that the luminous numbers on his alarm clock now read 4:00 a.m. He didn't realize it had gotten so late. Sighing, Harry got up and set the crumpled Daily Prophet down next to Hedwig's large cage. He smiled a rare smile at the beautiful owl whose head was tucked snugly under her massive white wing. Hedwig rarely slept during the daytime anymore. With everything that had been going on, there was much more post than usual.
Harry turned to go back to his bed when he stopped dead in his tracks. Staring in at him from the window was a face, but it was definitely not Voldemort's. Harry gasped dumbfounded. His face broke into the first genuine smile he'd had in days. Harry hurried to open the window. The eyes behind it twinkled happily upon seeing Harry. They were the dark eyes of a shaggy black dog. A dog Harry knew all too well as Sirius Black.