Disclaimer:: I do not own Harry Potter, but I think I own this plot. I don't own the title either...that belongs to Sun-Tzu.

Summary:: Harry is left to his own devices over the holidays, and discovers some interesting facts about himself.

The Art of War

Making of Plans

'Master Sun said:

War is

A grave affair of state;

It is a place

Of life and death,

A road

To survival and extinction,

A matter

To be pondered carefully.

There are five fundamentals

For this deliberation,

For the making of comparisons

And the assessing of conditions:

The Way,

Heaven,

Earth,

Command,

Discipline'

Sun Tzu

Chapter 1 – The Way

'The Way

Causes men

To be of one mind

With their rulers,

To live or die with them,

And never to waver.'

Sun Tzu

.::.

"Boy. Get up and get Dudders his breakfast." Petunia Dursley screamed through the thin, wooden door to the second smallest bedroom at number 4 Privet Drive. It was common knowledge to all who lived nearby that the inhabitents of said house were Petunia Dusley; perfectly normal housewife, Vernon Dursley; perfectly normal business man, Dudley Dursley; perfectly normal if slightly overweight teenager, and Harry Potter; freak extraordinaire and inmate at a school for misbehaving boys.

However, if any of the neighbours had bothered to think about the situation in that house, they would have realised that while Harry Potter was only present during some of the holidays, if you met him along the street or at the shops, he was a very polite young man. It would also have become obvious that they only people who were heard in the house were the Dursleys, and that Harry Potter usually wore a variety of bruises, black eyes and cut-lips.

It was then, definitely a shame that the neighbours didn't think about it very often. And those that did had children; children who came home from the shops or school saying what a lovely person Dudley Dursley was, and trying to hide the array of bruises on their arms and chests, often passing them off as accidents.

"Potter. My boy's starving out here." the voice shrieked again, and the Harry pushed himself up off the bed. He ruffled through his already messy hair, and straightened his T-Shirt. It was only the second day of the holidays and they were already treating him like a slave.

"I'm coming Aunt Petunia." He called and pulled on some socks that were lying randomly in his trunk. He still hadn't unpacked from coming home from Hogwarts for the holidays; the Gryffindor was still hoping that Dumbledoor hadn't been serious when he told him that he would have to stay the entire holidays at his relatives house. He had told the headmaster several times how bad the situation was, but the man had waved it off every time, saying that it wasn't as bad as he made out, or that the situation would right itself in time.

Harry opened the door to his bedroom before his Aunt had chance to yell at him again, and left the room, shutting the door behind him and jogging down the stairs. He needed to get fitter, he thought, maybe he should take up running before breakfast.

As he entered the kitchen, he could see Dudley and Vernon already sitting at the table, the younger of the large men was watching the small television carefully, his pig-like eyes almost bulging out of his head as he tried to see the small picture. Vernon grunted as he entered the room, nodding at the cooker and fridge. Apparently, that meant that he wanted the same as usual for breakfast.

Harry shrugged and walked more slowly over to the fridge, opening it and pulling out the open packet of bacon and box of eggs. He sighed as he noticed that there was only ten pieces of bacon left – there would be none for him again; four for Dudley, four for Vernon and two for Petunia. He was, for once, glad that Vernon had a decent job at the drill company, as it meant that the family could afford to buy so much food, and so many presents for Dudley. However, they never seemed to buy enough for him; it was almost as though they forgot about him coming home for the holidays, and still bought enough for the three of them.

Harry turned on the grill and slapped a few pieces of bacon down. It wasn't as though he could blame them though. Sure they had been horrible to him for the sixteen years he had been at their house, but he had been left on their doorstep with a note in his blanket. They hadn't asked for him, and nor had they wanted him, but Dumbledoor had pressured Petunia into keeping her sister's baby. Now that he thought about it, they hadn't chucked him out and left him to die, they had clothed him, and they had fed him enough.

He put the cooked bacon and eggs down with a piece of toast and about half a pot of cooked baked-beans on a plate, and carried them over to the two men at the table. He had just put Petunia's down when she walked into the kitchen with a new floral dress on. They must be going to a work party, Harry thought, as he looked at Vernon's suit and Dudley's smart outfit. Obviously, they weren't taking him with them.

Petunia smiled at him, throwing the boy off guard, and pointed at a small bag on the worktop, near to the fridge. Harry took a look inside it, and saw a new pack of bacon with some more bread. Looking back at his aunt, he saw her nod and tuck into her own breakfast. Harry smiled and began to cook the extra bacon, he would only take a few pieces.

.::.

Harry could hear Dudley and Vernon banging around upstairs in the bathroom as he washed up the plates from breakfast. Petunia hadn't yet left the room, and he could feel her eyes watching him, burning a hole in his back. He put the clean plates away neatly in the cupboard and turned round.

"Yes Aunt Petunia?" He asked, not unpolitely, as she had let him have breakfast for once. She was fiddling with a sealed envelope. It didn't have a name or a stamp on it yet, and he assumed that it was a job for him today – to take it down to the post office.

"We – Vernon, Dudley and I – are taking a holiday in America for a month. We're leaving now." She put the letter down on the dining room table, and stood up as Vernon and Dudley came back down again. "Read that when we've gone." She whispered to him, giving him a slight hug before turning and walking out of the room.

"Come and take the bags to the car boy." Vernon said loudly, and Harry rushed to the bags in the hall. He hadn't noticed them on the way down, but it looked as though they were taking a lot of things.

.::.

Harry watched through the living room window as the car drove off, thinking about how strange the situation was. The Dursley's had never left him alone before, always sending him off to stay with Mrs Figg if they took even a day trip. What had made them change their mind? One thing was certain; Dumbledoor would not be happy if he found out that they had left him. So Harry would have to make sure the headmaster never found out.

The Gryffindor had a month to himself, so maybe he could get a few things done that he wouldn't usually be able to do during the holidays. He walked back into the kitchen and picked up the letter as he sat down at the table. His fingers shook slightly as he opened it, and began to read the neat lettering inside.

'Harry,

If you are reading this, I have been too cowardly to tell you myself. Let me tell you everything I know.

My name is Petunia Anne Dursley and I am your mother's sister. We grew up together, as close as sisters can be; we were practically inseperable. Then Lily received her Hogwarts letter, and she became estranged, hardly talking to me. When she did, she acted as though I was below her. I even wrote to the headmaster of Hogwarts, begging for him to let me into the school so I could be with Lily, for I loved her still, though she seemed to love me no longer.

When she left for the first time, I sent her letter after letter, asking her to tell me everything that happened while she was at Hogwarts. I never got a reply. She came back at Christmas a completely different person; she never stopped talking about Hogwarts, James Potter, Siruis Black, Remus Lupin and Severus Snape. Apparently she had been sorted into Gryffindor, but she wouldn't tell me what that meant, who her friends were, what it was like to be able to do magic or anything like that. I vowed that Christmas Day to hate her until she answered my questions, which she never did.

She came back each holidays, telling Mom and Dad about how wonderful Hogwarts and magic was, never telling me the simplest spell, and always hushing when I came into the room.

I'm sorry for my treatement of you in the years you have been a member of my household; my hatred of Lily clouded my vision of you. You never knew your Mom, and we didn't bring you up in the best way we could have. And for that, I'm sorry.

Please forgive me, and enjoy yourself in the month to come.

Petunia Anne Dursley'

Harry placed the letter down on the table, silent as a dementor. He had never heard his Aunt's side of the tale, and had always agreed with Ron and Siruis that she was mean, and that Lily was amazing and could do no wrong. He sighed, he could see where she was coming from though.

He cocked his head as he looked at the envelope again. There was something inside it, and he had read the entire letter. His fingers made their way inside the envelope and pulled out a large wad of notes and another letter. He flipped through the notes, smiling with affection at Aunt Petunia's generousity; there was at least five hunderd pounds of cash here, probably more like one thousand pounds.

The other letter was written in a more cursive hand, the words flowing across the page.

'Dear Harry,

If you are reading this letter of mine, it means that both me and James are dead. It also means that you have been placed into the care of someone other than Siruis and Remus, meaning that they are either dead, or in Azkaban.

I do hope that you have not been made to live with my sister, Petunia. She made it clear to me years ago that she dislikes me, my friends, and magic in general. Although, to be fair to her, it was mostly my fault. I didn't want to share the feeling of being magical with anyone else.

Before I say goodbye to you, my darling son, I must tell you a few things.

I found out last year that I am not a muggle-born as I thought I was. According to a piece of family tree James found, I am related to both the Blacks, and the Gaunts. I am not sure who the Gaunts are, but you should know Siruis Black; he's your cousin twice removed. This was on my fathers side; he was a squib, and on my mother's side, I am related to a few old familes, including Tonks, Riddle, Flint, Zambini, Longbottom and Lovegoods.

I loved your father very much, but he was only my second love. My first love was Severus Snape, you may have heard of him. When we knew each other, he was a handsome, clever young man with an affinity to Potions. If he is still alive, he is probably one of the best Potions Masters in the world.

A word of caution though, Albus Dumbledoor isn't the person we thought he was. If he is still the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, be careful my dear Harry. He may act like the kind and caring grandfather-figure, but underneath is a manipulative and cruel man.

I write this letter to you from the bedroom, and I look at you while I write. Your eyes are so trusting Harry, and you try to wipe away the tears that fall freely from my eyes. I cannot help myself; you are so beautiful my son, and soon you shall be taken from me, I fear.

Your father, James Potter, is downstairs collecting some of our most precious things together, for if there is a chance, we shall all escape this house tonight. Peter Pettigrew is our secret keeper for the house in Godric's Hollow, but your father and I have had some doubts about him. He is no longer the friend we thought he was.

I have left a series of notes around the place for you to find incase we do die. Most of them are here, at Godric's Hollow, but there are some at Siruis' place in Grimmauld Place, some in our Gringott's Vaults and some at Hogwarts. If you find these, don't judge your father, I and our friends too harshly. We were young and foolish.

Always remember my sweet, sweet Harry, that James and myself shall always love you. Whether we are here or in the next world, we shall never forget you.

Love always

Lily Potter

Your Loving Mother'

Tears dripped onto the table making a pitter-patter sound as Harry Potter slipped the notes back into the envelope. After a few minutes, the most informative contents made their way into his mind. He was related to Voldemort.

Harry sat at the same table for the next few minutes, thinking about what this meant for him. If Dumbledoor never knew that fact, it could answer some of the prophesy.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."

Harry had always wondered about the prophesy since Dumbledoor had finally told him about it. And now he had the time to mull it over properly.

'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches' If Snape had relayed what he had heard of the prophesy to Voldemort, which made him attack the Potter residence. Harry was nearly a year old when Voldemort attacked the house, killing his mother and his father. In that case, the prophesy was surely made after Harry's birth. So if the phrase wasn't talking about Harry's birth, what was it talking about?

'born to those who have thrice defied him' Harry knew that his father and mother had defied Voldemort three times, refusing to join his Death Eater ranks. But then again, so had Neville's parents.

'and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal' Although Dumbledoor insisted that the scar on the Gryffindor's head meant that Voldemort had marked Harry as his equal, he wasn't sure. How was giving someone a scar marking them as your equal? Harry believed that some of Voldemort's personality and abilities had been pushed inside him, so to speak. And that was why he could speak Parseltongue.

'and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives' This phrase confused Harry more than the rest of the obscure prophesy. Wasn't he alive? And wasn't Voldemort alive? He therefore came to the conclusion that 'live' was meant in a different sense to actually being alive.

.::.

Harry woke early the next day, loving the new freedom he had. He quickly pulled on a new T-Shirt and pair of trousers before slipping out of the house for an early morning run. He could hear a panting behind him, and the slap of feet unused to running on the ground. Dumbledoor had someone following him, did he? And by the sound of it, it was Mundungus Fletcher.

He only ran a few times round the rather large park a few streets away, before walking slowly back to number 4 Privet Drive. His legs were burning, and his lungs felt as though they hadn't had any oxygen for a while, and Harry made a mental note to keep up the running, and try to get fitter. Quidditch training only did so much for a person's physique. After all, how could riding a broomstick help gain leg muscles?

When he got back to the house, he locked the front door and turned the shower on upstairs. He drew all the curtains and stripped to look at himself in the mirror in the spare bedroom.

He was taller than he had been last time he had looked in a mirror, with slightly defined muscles on his arms, legs and stomach. Training for Quidditch had given him an athletic build; lithe and slim with muscles but little fat on him. His hair was growing longer now, the additional weight taming it slightly, and his fringe mostly covered the ugly scar that everyone recognised.

Getting into the shower, Harry smiled as the cool water rushed over his shoulders and down his back and chest. Since he was home alone, he could afford to take his time in the shower, something he hadn't been able to do during the holidays before.

He took about an hour out of his busy day schedule to lean against the wall of the shower and contemplate what had happened so far. He had spent much of the day before mulling over the prophesy and making notes on it. He had then designed himself a timetable for the rest of the holidays, making sure that he had enough time to go shopping and buy himself some new clothes. In fact, that was what he had planned for the weekend, which was only two days away. He hoped that he could get some books for extra-curricula reading.

He dressed in a pair of jeans and a tight-ish T-Shirt as he took out his Potions book and began to scribble away on a spare piece of paper. Urgh, trust Snape to set an essay on the effects of 'mandrake root' in four different potions. The only one he could think of was the potion for counter-acting petrification. And even then, he doubted he could write enough on it.

.::.

Harry woke early and went on his morning run. It was Saturday now, and he was used to getting up at five o clock, although apparently, the person following him still wasn't ready for the running. Maybe they should just get a broom.

He was already getting better at running, and could manage at least ten laps round the park in less than half an hour, although when he got back, his lungs were burning and he had to have a sit down before he could move again.

He had a quick shower and dressed for town, strapping his wand onto his arm using the wandholder he had bought last time he was in Diagon Alley. It had proved to be very useful so far, and he reckoned that it would become even more so.

He took some of the muggle money Petunia had left for him, and exited the house, locking it securely behind him before throwing the key behind the flower bed that lined the window sill.

Harry took the muggle bus to London; it took a lot longer, yes, but it was less risky, and he wasn't as likely to be recognised by a wizard. After all, what wizard would travel by muggle means when they could apparate or get the Day Bus?

There you go. The first chapter. Tell me what you think of it...comments, constructive criticism and even flames are welcome if you think it's necessary.

'The Art of War' is a real book written by Sun-Tzu.

Now a little vote. I'm not sure whether to have the Weasley's as good or bad. Or whether Dumbledoor is going to be good or manipulative.

It will probably be a few chapters before either appears, but I'd love to have your thoughts on the matter.

Thanks

Kryztol Thorn