VENGEANCE SO SWEET

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all other characters, references, and situations belong to J.K Rowling. No copyright infringement intended

Spoilers: All four books

Rating: PG-13

Category: Drama/Action/Adventure

Summary: Fifth year fic centered around Harry. With Voldemort's return to power, a struggle begins between the Light and Dark Side. Harry finds himself in quite a few undesirable situations. Suspense, betrayal, Death Eaters, shaky plots to bring down Voldemort, and all sorts of new stuff.

Prologue

It was summertime.

 That much was obvious, as one would observe, from the soaring temperatures and burning midday sun that beat upon the small town of Surrey. Child after child ran across the streets, shrieking with laughter and carrying sticks of frozen ice, which they licked continually to keep cool.

Wandering down the orderly maze of streets, one would eventually stumble onto an even more orderly street, lined with still larger and neater houses. At the corner of the block, rising from a tiny square of green grass and perched atop a long wooden stake, was a sign bearing the words 'Privet Drive'.

This neighborhood was empty of most children, the silence so thick that one could hardly dare to cut through. One lone boy, almost fifteen in age, had ventured outside in the smoldering heat. He was bent on one knee in front of a prim flower garden that snaked around the edges of a two-story house, which was painted white with a blue '#4' engraved on the door.

From a distance, his appearance wasn't much to look at: a scrawny boy, with a thin face and an unruly mop of untamable hair, but upon closer inspection, he wasn't half bad looking at all. Quite the contrary, he possessed a strange kind of beauty, with his strong jaw and radiant green eyes, which were lit with some sort of inner glow—pride, one might assume. A thin, flesh-colored scar was etched into his forehead, peeking out from under a fringe of thick, black bangs. His glasses, which looked desperately in need of repair, sat askew on his sweating nose, threatening to slip off and shatter on the sidewalk at any given moment.

The boy wrapped his browned hands around a tangle of weeds growing amid a circle of tulips and gave a small grunt as he pulled them out. With his right hand, he flung them aside, into a growing pile of junk and unwanted grass, and with his left arm, he quickly wiped the beads of sweat dripping into his eyes.

After a few silent moments of rigorous pulling and tossing, he let out a sigh and fell backwards onto the fresh lawn, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. He expected that his aunt would be after his back if she caught him like this, but the only thing his mind could register was the acute soreness of his muscles.

Sure enough, only seconds later, a shrill voice pierced the silence that he had so eagerly welcomed. "Boy! You had better be finished with that garden by now, or you won't get your lunch!"

A bony, wispy-haired woman, who was at the moment livid with rage, stormed out of the house, a sheet of paper clutched in her fist. "Did you hear me, you ungrateful rat? If you want your meal, go inside before I shut the door in your smirking face. Did you hear me? This is my house, and I will not tolerate your rudeness!"

Startled by the sudden outburst, which had been harsh even for his aunt, Harry dropped his shovel and strode hastily inside, inconspicuously wiping his muddy hands on the inside of his oversized T-shirt.

The slamming of the door and noisy footsteps indicated his aunt's arrival back inside the house. Not wanting to be the target of her bad mood again, he scurried into the kitchen, grabbed his meager lunch (a slice of yellow cheese and a hunk of ham smashed hastily between two stale pieces of bread), and made his ungraceful retreat back into his room (His overweight cousin, Dudley, had been pacing the hallway upstairs, which he now did each day for five minutes as his 'cardiovascular exercise').

As he looked around the poorly furnished room, he took in the few, but unusual, details of it. A heavy-looking chestnut colored trunk was wedged into a tight corner, the bristles of a broomstick sticking out from behind it. A thin, dusty stick of black wood was flung carelessly on his desk, next to a pot of black ink and a feather quill. His darting eyes finally settled on his bed, where a snowy white owl was perched, a paper bag grasped firmly in its beak.

"Hedwig!" Harry noted, a surprised look spreading across his face at the first welcome sight he had had all day. He broke off a portion of the sandwich, letting his owl nibble on it before turning his attention to the paper bag.

A thick sheaf of letters, all with Harry's name on the front, but in various degrees of messiness, spilled out. He picked up one of the letters gingerly with his index finger and thumb, not wanting to smear mud over the crisp white envelope. Making a small noise of impatience, he dropped the letter and studied his mud-encrusted hands before slipping out of his room, careful to avoid Dudley, who was still trundling through the halls.

"Gods, I'd better not risk meeting up with Aunt Petunia again," Harry muttered to himself as he tip-toed quietly down the stairs. "But what needs to be done needs to be done…" He entered the kitchen, and began heading towards the half-closed bathroom door next to the iron-wrought bookshelf guarding the hallway opening.

Strangely enough, his Uncle Vernon wasn't seated at the table, eating his usual lunch of meatballs and chicken, as he usually was at such an hour. Instead, all he saw was a bare dining table, with a single piece of folded paper sitting in the middle. Curiosity overpowering his cautiousness, he grabbed the paper, stuffed it into his pocket, and sprinted the rest of the way to the washroom.

Turning on the tap, he gave his hands a rough wash before drying them with a purple towel hanging from a nearby rack. Then, his heart beating in his ears, he stole back into his bedroom, unnoticed by any occupant of the house. For the next few hours, nothing in the house on number four Privet Drive stirred, until Harry Potter emerged from his room, a disturbed and pale look on his face.