Disclaimer: Standard stuff (I don't own anything, I won't be making profit, any resemblance to previously published content is purely coincidental, JK Rowling is the coolest, etc.). If I make any legal errors regarding copyrighted material, inform me and I will correct them immediately.

Harry Potter and the Lightning Scar

As dawn broke in Surrey, a thin teenager awoke, instantly alert. Still clothed from the previous evening, he rolled out of bed and changed his clothes, knowing full well that the shower would not be available until after the Dursleys had completed their morning rituals. Not that it mattered, since he knew without trying the door that he was locked inside his room. There was nothing for it, he knew from years of experience, but to wait and think.

Harry found it funny (in an "I wonder why that is" sort of way) that he could sleep in like a typical lazy teenager ten months out of the year, but as soon as he was back at Number 4 Privet Drive, he would wake at the crack of dawn. He supposed that it was some habit stimulated by the very environment; while he felt comfort and a warm sense of belonging at Hogwarts, Number 4 brought only tension and loneliness. In addition, he mused, it probably didn't help that he had spent the better part of a decade (essentially since he was old enough to manipulate a spatula) waking up to make breakfast for his relatives.

The boy was drawn out of his contemplation by a comically-extended series of metallic clicks, snaps, and cracks before the door slammed open with sufficient force to knock out anyone in its way—a lesson that Harry had learned quickly and harshly the previous summer.

"Boy!" Uncle Vernon snarled, and began to stomp away, no doubt displeased that he had been denied the pleasure of hitting Harry with the door. "Get downstairs and help your aunt with breakfast!"

Silently, Harry did as ordered (after opening his window to allow Hedwig out to hunt), finding it slightly amusing that he was helping his aunt. Of course, Vernon Dursley would never imply that Harry had been in a position to do anything worthy of praise; thus, if he was pleased with his meal, he could praise his wife (whose actual contribution was no more helpful than ordering him not to over- or under-cook anything, and berating him at the slightest sound of dishes or utensils) while ignoring his nephew.

After his own typically meager breakfast (as all the bacon and sausage, and most of the eggs and toast had been practically chugged down by the Dursleys by the time he sat down), he went for a shower.

"Typical," he muttered darkly under his breath, as the cold water shocked his attention away from his unsatisfied hunger; his relatives had, as usual, used up all of the hot water (Dudley had even been known to leave the shower on during breakfast, just to make sure Harry froze). "Bloody Dursleys."

After toweling himself dry, Harry returned to the kitchen table, to address the list of chores he knew his aunt had left him before Vernon dropped her off at the shops on his way to work. He took one look at the list, and sighed, "It's going to be a long summer."

Several hours later, while a boy in Surrey mowed the grass in the oppressive heat and humidity and about 40 kilometers away, as noon broke in London, two men—scruffy, unshaven, disheveled, and generally looking somewhat worse for the wear—began to drag themselves off the furniture upon which they had collapsed and passed out the night before.

"Kreacher," Sirius Black groaned. "Hangover potion. Eggs. Bacon. Greasy food. Now."

Seconds later, he was hit directly in the face by a tray full of eggs, bacon, sausage, and hot grease; as he jumped up and howled in rage and pain, a vial of hangover potion sailed past his ear and smacked Remus Lupin in the eye.

Cackling madly about blood traitors, bad masters, and half-breeds, the crazed elf disappeared with a muted pop, and Sirius was left to clean up the mess, heal his new burns (which were thankfully minor enough to address with the fairly simple, ever-useful episkey charm), and split the awful-tasting hangover potion with Remus.

"I can't wait until that wretched little lunatic gets on Buckbeak's bad side," Remus growled, before snapping his fingers as his recollections of the previous night's scheme was (mostly) restored by the hangover potion. "Speaking of vicious creatures, I'll go send that owl."

Remus Lupin had lived a hard life; forced to the fringes of society by deeply-entrenched prejudices against those afflicted with lycanthropy, he had spent most of his adult life jumping from one odd job to the next, taking whatever work he could wherever he could find it. Several years ago, his wanderings had taken him to the United States of America, where the prevailing attitudes, though still negative due to the nature of the curse, were generally more relaxed and tolerant. He had found a seasonal job at—of all places!—a muggle sporting stadium in Green Bay, Wisconsin, and had become friendly with several coworkers who were members of the Menominee tribe of Native Americans, which had a reservation in nearby (by American standards, anyway) Menominee County.

Significantly, witches and wizards in North America tended to associate much more closely with their non-magical (the term "muggle" was deemed too condescending for use in polite society) counterparts, and Native American magic-users took this tendency so far enough that the existence of magic was practically an open secret among Native American communities. Thus, in short order, Remus had found himself working his off-nights as a bartender at a bar in Keshena, the county seat. There, he had found a surprising amount of acceptance, and had even found several animagi willing to keep him company on his monthly full moon run (or "FMR," as James Potter had often called the Marauders' monthly shenanigans). These wizards—often referred to as "shamans" or "medicine-men" by their non-magical tribal counterparts—had used a very different (and arguably superior, in both its relative ease and likelihood of success) method from their European counterparts to achieve the animagus transformation.

The accepted process in most European magical communities for becoming an animagus involved several hallucinogenic potions to determine one's appropriate animagus form, a months- or years-long study of that creature's anatomy and physiology, and hundreds of increasingly-intricate transfigurations. The traditional Native American process, however, recognized that animals are not driven by logical, iterative processes; rather, they are moved by emotion and strength of will. Therefore, prospective animagi fasted for a day (to get in touch with their hunger), performed a brief (but exhausting) ritual, and slept out in the open under a dark moon, during which time their dreams would unveil their animagus form. The next lunar cycle would be spent having increasingly-lucid dreams, during which the wizard would become increasingly familiar with the primal drives of the animal within. The next new moon after this lunar cycle, the wizard would "become one with the animal spirit," and spend the rest of the night in animal form. If successful, the newly-minted animagus would be able to transform at will, and—unlike those who followed the European method—would retain (usually beneficial) facets of the animal even in human form.

After hearing Sirius recount the details of his capture by Snape and subsequent escape from the Ministry at Hogwarts—particularly the fact that Harry, as a mere third-year, had called forth sufficient emotional strength and willpower to fuel a patronus capable of routing over a hundred dementors—over drinks the previous night, Remus had immediately thought of the Menominee animagi and how well Harry would probably take to their teaching methods. Sirius had thought it a brilliant plan, if for no other reason than the fact that it would get Harry out of Number 4 Privet Drive while the two faithful Marauders began their hunt for Peter Pettigrew. Both men also recognized that Harry could benefit greatly from becoming an animagus, as he would undoubtedly see it as a way to become closer to his father, who—as the resident transfiguration expert—had spearheaded the Marauders' efforts at achieving the animagus transformation at Hogwarts, not to mention the fact that the animagus transformation could be a particularly useful piece of magic both in combat and for subterfuge.

The rented owl winged off on its transcontinental journey, aided significantly by a portkey set to take the owl directly to the closest point in the Commonwealth directly north of American airspace—from there, it was a relatively short flight south to Wisconsin. It carried a missive to one of Remus's old regulars from the bar who had introduced him to the Menominee animagi, and a request to respond as soon as possible. As luck would have it, he wouldn't have to wait very long.

Author's Note:

I've thrown in the Captain's Log entry from 5/16/2014 below, and removed it from my profile page. This is to more accurately comply with, if not the letter, than the spirit of the rules and guidelines for posting stories.

I'm two chapters into Harry Potter and the Lightning Scar, and I've already noticed that I tend to lean heavily on narration, and am a bit light on dialogue. I've read stories that leaned the other way, and I sometimes found myself almost irritated with the lack of description. I'm sure there's a happy medium somewhere, and it'll probably take me a while to work it out. If you choose to review, let me know what you think of this.

Also, I should take this opportunity to note that at this point, I don't intend for HPatLS to include any significant romantic subplot; perhaps there might be a dalliance or two, but that's about it. Generally, I have difficulty imagining Harry getting into successful romantic relationships; he literally spent his formative years alternating between different forms of abuse and neglect, and none of his adult role models (the Dursleys, Arabella Figg, and his professors at Hogwarts) are shining examples of having successful relationships. The Dursleys are abusive caricatures, Figg is literally an "old cat lady," and his professors at Hogwarts all either endanger his life, are blatantly unprofessional, abdicate their responsibilities (leaving them to children, no less), or refuse to give him the time of day when he brings them problems, despite his proven track record of saving peoples' lives. Basically, the bottom line is that Harry Potter is going to be one severely emotionally-stunted kid. Even in canon, he constantly displays problems obtaining and maintaining both romantic and platonic interpersonal relationships, due in no small part to the fact that he never had the opportunity to learn by example-he doesn't really understand love of any kind (ironic, considering canon Dumbledore's insistence that it's his superpower). From a writing standpoint, I'm also not a huge fan of romantic subplots, especially the "happily ever after" kind where Harry is suddenly an Edwardian or Victorian gentleman-straight out of a Jane Austen novel-who meets his True Redheaded Love in the magical equivalent of junior high because that's what James Potter did as a kid, and he isn't going to suddenly become a serial-shagging lady-killer just because that's what Sirius Black did as a kid. I mean, come on!

As for horcruxes and Hallows, I haven't quite decided. I've got a loose framework into which I can shove them, but honestly I don't think the story needs them. And you can't really have one without the other-if you've got horcruxes, the Ring has to have some significance, which means the other Hallows have to be there (because each of the Big Three-Albus, Harry, and Tom-need to have one, for the sake of storytelling symmetry), and if you've got Hallows, you need horcruxes as an excuse to get the Ring into Tom's hands, and he can't recognize it as a Hallow because he has to be shown as arrogant and ignorant of the "older" magics, as a contrast to Humble Harry and Wise Albus. Wandlore might play a minor role (probably because I've spent enough time playing Dungeons and Dragons to be a certified magical-item-junkie), but I still hold that the whole "defeat a master to earn a wand's loyalty" thing is dumb because it makes practice dueling ridiculous, and wands-as symbolic and Magic With a Capital M as they are-are just pieces of wood with some animal bits shoved inside (as opposed to beings which use their sentience solely to spite those they deem unworthy). So the more I think of it, probably no Hallows (because I don't like the Elder Wand as a fair-weather friend), which means no horcruxes. Eh. END LOG.