Greetings all, and welcome to my first Harry Potter fanfic. Just a couple of quick things before the story gets started. This is 100% AU; canon compliant only up until the point that Harry & Co. board the Express at the end of Order of the Phoenix. There will be bashing ahead of near enough every main character; not many remain unscathed, some less than others, some more. There will also be some significant time skips; fairly certain I can say with some confidence, that near enough every person who reads HP fanfiction knows the books back to front. Therefore, I won't be rehashing something that everyone already knows. Gets in the way, I feel. Also, no Hallows or Horcruxes. I liked the idea of them, just not how J.K. did them.

Now that's out of the way, welcome to the first chapter of Disappointed.

(re-upload due to formatting issue)

The summer of 1996 was one of perfect weather; the daylight saw children playing in parks and swimming pools, while the evenings saw barbeques, with families relishing in the time they can spend with their loved ones in the warm, later hours. The Dursley's were no different in this respect. Nearly every evening saw multiple platters of burgers, sausages and chicken cooked; enough to feed half the street, as they invited members of the community they saw 'fit' to join them on a regular basis. One member of the family wasn't allowed to join in the festivities, however. Even if he wanted to, the youngest member of number 4 Privet Drive was too preoccupied to even care about his 'family' in the back garden having a good time. He was too busy crying.

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, Wizard, Triwizard Champion, Chosen One and Fate's personal punching bag, was staring at the rickety chair in front of him, the orb having long since gone out, the remnants of his tears still visible on his face. His only companion, Hedwig, was attempting to make soothing noises from the head of the bed next to him, but nothing could pierce Harry's anguish. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to rage against everything he just heard, but he couldn't. Everything the young wizard just heard was true. Silently, he picked up the letter from Gringotts that had fallen to the floor, stood up and walked to the window to get some fresh air, replaying the words of his since fallen Godfather.

FLASHBACK:

Had anyone asked if it was easy to surprise Harry Potter anymore, the answer the boy would give would be an unequivocal 'no'. The wizard who faced down Voldemort multiple times, killed a sixty-foot Basilisk with a sword, terrified over a hundred Dementors with a single spell and outflew a dragon. But here said boy was, staring at his desk, as reality seemed to warp above it. Twisting, turning and folding out on itself, before a small chest popped into existence and gently floated down to the desk's surface. Hedwig was silent as the bespectacled teen cautiously made his way from his bed to the desk, wand tightly gripped in his hand, thankful for the distraction of his grieving over his part in his godfather's recent demise. Ignoring the noise from the back garden, Harry peered closely at the chest; embossed on the top was the golden symbol of Gringotts.

Why would Gringotts be sending me something? Harry thought, pocketing his wand. As the so-called blood wards hadn't ejected the box, and his Order guard, who Harry knew were outside, hadn't come barging into his room, he figured that the box was safe. Just as the teen touched the clasp of the chest's lid, a pricking sensation shot through his finger. Recoiling, Harry clenched his hand as a small droplet of blood was soaked into the metal lock; a faint humming sound followed as the lock glowed before vanishing completely. Even more confused, Harry lifted the lid of the chest and noted that it contained a small, faintly glowing orb, roughly the size of a tennis ball. His heart caught in his throat as memories of what happened in the Department of Mysteries surged through his head. Getting a grip on himself, Harry took another look at the contents of the chest. Inside, there was an expected letter, something wrapped in some kind of cloth, as well as a smaller box that was eerily similar to the ones that Ollivander uses to contain his wands. Taking a deep breath, ignoring the orb for now, Harry reached for the letter first.

Dear Mr Potter,

Please accept our condolences for the loss of your godfather, Lord Sirius Orion Black. This chest is part of your inheritance, as decreed in Lord Black's Last Will and Testament. Lord Black anticipated obstacles to your attendance to the official Will reading, so he sent instructions to have this forwarded to your place of residence. Lord Black came to us two months before his death and gave specific instructions regarding his Will, one such is the chest before you, with the added caveat that it could only be opened by you. Inside is a Recording Orb. To activate, simply place the orb in the centre of a chair and tap the top with your wand. As it will be using the Goblin-magic infused in the orb, the Ministry won't be able to detect its use. Once the recording has finished, the orb will go out and will not be playable again. You may keep it as a souvenir or dispose of it. As the magic from the orb will have dissipated, it is safe to dispose of in the Muggle World. As well as the contents of this chest, a sizeable sum of gold has also been added to the main Potter Vault as well as the deeds to various Black properties not decreed to other beneficiaries. We understand that it will be difficult, but please see us at your earliest convenience so that we may go over the specifics, as well as the contents of the Recording Orb if need be.

May your gold flow and your enemies tremble,

Swiftclaw

Senior Accountant.

So many conflicting emotions hit Harry all at once. Sadness at the physical confirmation of Sirius' death, anger at hearing that someone was going to stop him attending the Will Reading and confusion at the mention of a 'main Potter vault'. As far as he was aware, he only had the one vault.

How much gold do I actually have then? Thought Harry, before shaking his head. Steeling himself, Harry reached back into the chest and picked up the glowing orb. It was heavier than he was expecting. The Prophecy Orb, despite being nearly double in size, was much lighter. Following the letter's directions, Harry placed the orb on the only chair in his room, tapped the top with his wand and sat on the edge of his bed, facing it. It only took a few seconds for the orb to activate; a dense, silvery, gaseous-like substance began to trickle out of the sphere and flowed around the chair. Just before it happened, Harry had an epiphany that this looked exactly like the substance from Dumbledore's pensieve, only happening in the open. Before he could voice this, the gas finally began to take shape into that of a human. With wide eyes and dropped jaw, Harry could only gape as his godfather, an ethereal Sirius Black, sat across from him with his trademark grin on his face.

"Hello Harry," Sirius softly said, still smiling at his godson. Harry went to hug him out of instinct, but Sirius held out his hands, his smile dropping slightly. "I'm sorry Harry. I can only guess what you're about to do, and while I can't blame you, it can't happen. I'm just a pre-recorded image. One way."

Harry, stifling a sob, sat back down as Sirius' recording carried on.

"Now to business," he began. "If you're seeing this, then it means that what I expect to happen, has happened, and I haven't made it to the end of this war. It also means that the Goblins have carried out my instructions wonderfully, and I can't thank them enough for it. Sneaking out of Grimmauld Place was difficult, but most certainly worth it. Since escaping from Azkaban and reconnecting with you, my only goal in life has been for you to be happy and have a future that doesn't involve Dark Lords and creatures out to get you. And in life or in death, you damn well better believe I'm going to achieve this. Call this my last gift to you, and my last prank to the powers that be."

"So," Sirius continued, "The reason behind all the secrecy. Two words: Albus Dumbledore. Now, in no way, shape or form, do I think that the man is evil, or has evil intentions. Unlike Snivellous. But this past year, cooped up in Headquarters, attending all these Order meetings, I've become a bit disillusioned with the man. During the last war, before that Halloween night, the Order was running several covert operations; targeting high ranking Death Eaters, infiltration, resource acquisition, even the odd rescue mission. When a family was being attacked, our response time was on par, or even better on occasion, than Hit-Wizards and Aurors. And while Albus wasn't exactly crazy about us using lethal force with some of our encounters with the Death Eaters, he understood that people die in wars. But we were still losing. Ask any realists in the Order, those left alive anyway, had you not stopped Voldemort, we would have lost. Simple as that. Since reactivating the Order, I can count on one hand how many operations we've done up to this point. And every single rescue that was attempted, we lost more than we saved. Dumbledore is using the same tactics, with less experienced members, in a war that is completely different from the last one. And now, he's forbidden the use of lethal force, no matter what the circumstances are. At worst, he cares more about the attackers lives than the victims, and at best, he knows something we don't and isn't sharing it.

And that's the kind of thing that gets a lot of unnecessary people killed in war. Don't get me wrong. War is war. People on both sides are going to die before it ends. But you're limiting yourselves to nothing stronger than a stunner, whilst your opponents, after reviving their stunned mates, are using curses that dissolve your organs and literally set your blood on fire. Only thing that's going to happen is that more of the wrong people are going to end up dead. Yet this logic has escaped Albus, somehow. The only thing that the senior members of the Order, those not entirely enamoured with the legend that is Albus Dumbledore can agree on, is that you are the key to his plans. Keeping you isolated after Diggory's death, damn that pissed me off. Every single letter out of this house was scanned and monitored by Molly. Don't get me wrong, Molly is a wonderful and loving woman. But she is a stalwart supporter and defender of Albus. He says 'jump', she'll ask 'how high?' She genuinely believed Albus when he said it was for your own good. But you know the old saying about the road to Hell being paved with good intentions? The only thing that really got to me on a personal level was that this is my house, despite hating it, and having her act like the Lord of the Manor and bossing everyone around like her own personal army. I do feel for Arthur sometimes, I really do."

"Sorry," Sirius said, waving his hand. "Getting side-tracked. So, where Molly was acting against you out of affection and love, I fully believe that Dumbledore is acting against you for his own machinations. And that scares me, Pup. It really does. I want you alive and well at the end of this thing. Whether you've blown Voldemort's head off with a Blasting Curse, or you've called in the S.A.S. and had them carpet bomb his headquarters. Don't care which. You alive is all that matters."

"Now, here comes the part you're not going to like, but it needs saying" Sirius continued, with a distinct lack of warmth in his voice and eyes, something that made Harry's heart drop into his stomach; he knew this was going to be bad. "I've loved you since the moment James handed you over to me in the hospital and asked me to be your Godfather. But despite all that, I'm disappointed in you Harry." At this, Harry's world crashed down all around him. Here was the man, who not five seconds ago had declared his love for him, someone who the wizard saw as a father-figure, saying that he was disappointed in him.

"I'm disappointed in you, Harry," Sirius repeated, shaking his head, a lone tear rolling down his cheek. "And I think I can safely say that James and Lily would be disappointed in you too. I haven't been idle in this house Pup, lamenting my lot in life. I've quizzed Remus and McGonagall about your work and grades, even Flitwick and Sprout when they've come to the occasional meeting. And even though I'm a fugitive, I'm still a registered guardian and by magical right, I can ask for all your scholastic reports and detentions and neither Dumbledore nor McGonagall can refuse me, without going against the oaths they made when they became educators. Every now and again, I wish they had refused just so I could see what would happen to them. Now, I couldn't be prouder about your detentions, minus the ones with the Toad of course; sneaking out past curfew with a baby dragon and taking a flying car to Hogwarts. Absolutely brilliant. But looking at your grades, I can't help but question what was going on. I'm not counting Snape's grades by the way. He'd give a 'T' to a Master Potioneer if they were anything but a Slytherin. It's the others. With the exception of Defence, and even that is only from Third Year onwards, you are only just about scraping an EE in Charms and Magical Creatures, and an A in the rest. The less said about Divination the better. That doesn't count as a valid grade. Unless you're a Seer, it's a pointless subject. From what I can gather, you've only ever put in the effort when you've been forced to, not out of your own volition. Third Year with the Dementors and the Patronus Charm and last year with that blasted tournament. And now this year with your Club because of Umbridge, and even that is only in Defence.

First year, can't blame you for it. Being thrusted into a world that you knew nothing about and discovering that magic was real and that your parents were murdered. That's enough to put anyone into shock, let alone an eleven year old coming from people like the Dursleys. But from that point on, why didn't you ever take your education seriously? You knew from that moment with Quirrell and the Stone that Voldemort was after you. You were a target, and yet you did nothing about it. You knew there was something going around the castle attacking students in your second year, and you were still half-arsing it in your lessons. While I'll admit that Lockhart wasn't exactly useful, there are so many useful charms and low-powered transfigurations that can help make a quick escape that any Second Year could learn with just the smallest amount of self-study. The Fog Spell, a Super-Sensory Charm; there's even one that makes a high-pitched shriek that affects everyone except the caster within a certain radius. That one requires less power than a Levitation Charm. All three of these would be invaluable in your arsenal. One of your best friends, despite being a bit high strung and a bit of an authority-lover, is a genius. She probably knows all of them off by heart. Even discounting all the life-threatening situations you find yourself in, there was still no effort. This may be a cheap shot, but James and Lily gave their lives so you could live, Pup. And from where I'm sitting, you've been squandering their sacrifice. You took the easiest classes, and even then, you half-arsed it. Don't deny it Harry. I've seen your Divination assignments, and it couldn't be more blatantly obvious that you were making stuff up. Yes, that might be the kettle calling the pot black coming from a Marauder, but what you need to understand that is yes, we were notorious pranksters in school; we went out of our way to go against the grain, yes even Moony, but we always took our studies seriously. We were all straight 'EE' or 'O' students, including Wormtail. He was considerably slower than myself, James and Remus, but he still kept them up. Only thing he got less than an 'EE' on was History, and that was because he was appalling at remembering dates. You took something like Divination, over Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Now, while I can understand not everyone has a mind for mathematics and so would struggle with Arithmancy, Runes is an incredibly useful subject that anyone with patience can grasp. And living with the Dursleys must have given you patience in abundance. Yes, it's hard, but incredibly rewarding.

Before she died, your mum was working on her Runes mastery. She was finalising a rune that could trap and hold a basic dark creature and slowly drain away their magic. No one had even thought of doing something like this before. One of those 'wizards have no common sense' things that your Hermione is fond of saying. All anyone else had done was create a ward barrier that could hold dark creatures back; even the Patronus Charm is just a shield that a Dementor feeds off of instead of the caster. The exception being yours, which was so over-powered, they fled with their cloaks between their, err, whatever they have instead of legs. Her rune would have gained her mastery and then some. It wouldn't have mattered that she was Muggleborn. Lily would have created a form of protection that could mean everyone would be safe from the likes of Dementors and Lethifolds, rogue Werewolves and Vampires, Boggarts and Barghests, and so on. She created rune bombs, which detonated with different elemental effects. We had great fun testing those. I don't think James' eyebrows were ever quite the same. She saw the incompetence of sticking your face into a bowl to view a memory, and so designed a pensieve with an added rune scheme that would project the memory like a film. Yes, today's pensieves can project a single individual from the memory, or that might just be Dumbledore's but hers went so far beyond that. 'Genius' doesn't quite do your mother justice, Harry."

"Now," Sirius carried on. "I'm not telling you all this for the hell of it. I don't enjoy being this harsh, but it all comes back to my original point. I want you to live Harry. I want you to see the end of this war, be proud of your achievements and have no regrets. Whether it's becoming the new Minister of Magic, being a stay at home dad with a dozen children, becoming an International Bounty Hunter or having your own Veela coven at your beck and call. I don't care. I want you to be happy. I don't want to see you again in the next couple of years. I want at least a hundred years to pass before we meet again, where you can tell me and your parents all about your adventures and all the mischief you got up to."

"So," Sirius said, leaning forwards, clasping his hands together. "You've got a choice to make, Harry. You can either carry on as you are, and hope that it all ends well, or you can use what I've given you, take your life into your own hands and make your own mark on the world that doesn't involve that stupid 'Boy-Who-Lived' appellation. The contents of the box will help you. Use them, please. Before I go, I have two final pieces of Godfatherly advice for you. The first is actually something quite simple; stop being 'Harry Potter' and become 'Harry-Freaking-Potter'. Don't be a follower. You don't even have to be a leader. Just be your own man. You want to be treated as an adult? Then be an adult. Be someone who when people hear your name, they wish they were you, in whatever capacity you choose for yourself. The second bit will be the hardest, but ultimately the most rewarding and fulfilling. In the world we live in, or used to in my case, it's dangerous to go alone, so take this last bit of advice to heart. Find someone. Find someone who loves you for you. Find someone who, when you wake up in the morning, the first thing you think of is 'damn, I'm a lucky guy'." Sirius' ghostly eyes took on a mischievous glint. "Or multiple someone's. I'm not fussy which one. Your father and I had great fun imagining setting you up with your own harem. Even though your mum would always smack the back of our heads when she heard these conversations, I overheard her once tucking you in and saying that your eyes and smile could bewitch an army of witches. Like I said before, just make sure you've got lots of juicy stories in a hundred year's time for us. While I'm not quite there yet, I can't imagine the Afterlife allows much for mischief. Though if it is, I'll be sure to tell you all about it when you get there."

With that, Sirius' form began to become less corporeal and more ghostly. Harry realised with a start that this was the end of the recording and Sirius was going to disappear on him again.

"Wait, Sirius," Harry begged, jumping off the bed towards Sirius' slowly disappearing form. "Please don't go."

"Goodbye Pup," Sirius said, smiling warmly at his Godson. "And don't forget, your parents and I love you. Now go out there and be amazing." With those parting words, Sirius' form evaporated in front of his eyes, the orb finally going out.

"I love you too," Harry muttered to the air around him, sniffing loudly. "All of you."

END FLASHBACK

Finally getting a hold of himself, Harry turned away from the window and looked at the box on his desk.

"Let's do this." Making his way back to the chest, ignoring the orb for now, Harry set about the contents. The first object he pulled out was the one wrapped in cloth. Unravelling it found Harry holding two slim books, his breath catching in his throat as he read the gold writing on the spines of each book; Lily Evans-Potter and James Potter respectively. Lifting them up, a bit of parchment slipped out from between them. Reaching down to pick it up, Harry read:

Harry,

These were your parents' personal journals. They were one of the few things I took from Godric's Hollow that night and squirreled them away in a safe place. I tried looking for their wands to give to you too, but I couldn't find them, and time was of the essence. In your father's journal, you'll find notes and research about various Transfiguration spells, Battle-magic, memorable pranks we committed as well as notes on how to make the Animagus-revealing potion, including the actual process to becoming one. Personally, I'd hold off on actually becoming an Animagus until after the war. Even with our notes, it'll still take you around a year to do so. By all means, make the potion and see what your form is, but you've got more important things to study up on first. The Animagus process is extremely arduous and quite painful. Not something you want distracting you in the current climate. In your mother's, you'll find the same kind of research, only for Charms, Arithmancy, Runes and Wards. Hers, I urge you to study hard with.

Use them well Pup.

Nodding to himself, Harry reverently put the journals to one side, in awe of the fact that he now had personal belongings from both his parents, rather than just his father's cloak. Shaking himself out of his reverie, Harry turned back to the chest to pull out the box that reminded him of Ollivander's wand boxes. Unsurprisingly, opening it up, Harry found a jet-black wand of similar size to his, resting in it. There was also a second note, which the teen reached out for on instinct.

Harry,

In a war, you need every advantage you can get your hands on. For you, I've got you a second wand. Now, ignore all that Ministry propaganda about it being illegal to own two wands. This is rubbish. They heavily encourage you to only have a single wand as it makes it easier for them to track you if need be, as every wand in Ollivander's shop can be traced by the Ministry. They have the standard Trace, which allows them to sense when an underage witch or wizard uses magic outside of school, but there's an underlying Trace which allows them to track all magic users wherever they are. This sensor, fortunately, is heavily guarded by the Department of Mysteries. No one in the Ministry, short of the Head of the department, can use it. They only tend to use it when hunting for the worst of the worst as it requires a monolithic amount of magic to use. And only someone as monstrously powerful as Albus or Voldemort, and maybe you one day, could hide from it. Funnily enough, the sensor is what a lot of us think the Order is actually guarding night after night. There's only a handful of things in that department we think Voldemort would trouble himself about, the sensor being right near the top. Other things included the Veil Chamber and the Hall of Prophecies. Can easily make a strong case for any of them.

Anyway, no one would expect you to have a second one, so it must remain your ace. If you intend to use it, you must be willing to put down anyone you fight, lest it gets back to their master. I also feel like, until you get properly trained with using dual wands, it's probably best you don't tell anyone about your second wand, and I include Hermione and Ron. I know they're your best friends, but you can't deny that Hermione is obsessed with authority and would immediately tell either McGonagall or Albus or both. While they can't punish you for it, they'll still raise an almighty stink about it. And with Ron, after the events of your fourth year, you know he would throw a tantrum because you've got yet another thing he hasn't. Now, for the core. As you may or may not be aware, Phoenix's come in different elemental forms, and I'm talking old elements here: fire, water, earth, air, light and shadow. Nobody knows just how many of each type are out there, just that they exist. Therefore, Phoenix feathers of any type are exceptionally rare. So, your holly wand, containing a feather from Fawkes, is from a fire Phoenix. Generally associated with passion and power. This ebony wand on the other hand, has the feather of an Ice Phoenix, an offshoot of the standard Water Phoenix. These creatures are more known for their ruthlessness and giving no quarter to those that have wronged them. And that is exactly what you need to win this war, Harry. The kiddie gloves have got to come off; put your enemies down before they put you down. Now, a wand like this wields no strength unless the hand that holds it has the courage to do what is necessary. I'm not asking you to go out and hunt down every Death Eater and kill them in their sleep. I'm not even asking you to kill. I'm asking that when faced with an enemy that doesn't care about your wellbeing, don't care about theirs. You don't have to go for the killing blow every time, but don't shy away from it either. Now, the part you may have an issue with, more so because of your previous experience with this type of magic, but I took a small sample of your blood to be used in the creation of this wand. I won't say who created it, but know I was there the whole time they used your blood and destroyed any that remained once the wand was completed. I did this so the wand would recognise you, and only you. Don't want your ace to go walkabouts. It comes with a holster that has an automatic Disillusionment Charm on it that activates when the wand is holstered.

Harry picked up the ebony wand and felt the familiar rush of energy surge through him, exactly the same feeling he felt when he first held his holly wand. Smiling at Sirius' gift, Harry didn't notice there was a third presence in the room with him until Hedwig gave an indignant preck. Turning around, he saw a barn owl sat on his windowsill, a roll of parchment in its talons. It was exactly like the ones Hogwarts uses.

Now, this is either my O.W.L.s, or something from Dumbledore, Harry thought, as be unburdened the owl and giving it access to Hedwig's water bowl. My money is on Dumbledore. Once the owl had drunk its fill, it took off into the slowly darkening evening sky.

"Right," Harry said aloud, noticing the Headmaster's loopy handwriting. "Let's see what he has to say. If Sirius was right, then he's going to mention the Will and a reason why it's not safe for me to go." Unrolling the letter, Harry found he was correct on both points.

Harry,

As you may or may not be aware, Sirius left a Will and the Goblins have begun to send out notices for the reading. I mention this because it will not be long before you receive one of these notices. However, due to the current social and political climate, your safety would be in jeopardy. Therefore, it is in your best interests if you were not to attend, and I will stand in as your proxy. I will be doing so for Miss Granger and Mr Weasley too. I know you will not agree with this, but I am only looking out for your personal wellbeing. As it happens, I will be requiring your aid a week on Friday with a task that I have been putting off since the beginning of the holidays. Upon its completion, I will be taking you to the Burrow where you can spend the rest of the holidays with the Weasley's, as I'm sure would be your preference.

Yours,

Albus Dumbledore.

For lack of a better word, Harry was pissed. It wasn't that he doubted Sirius' word, but seeing the evidence with his own eyes was something else. The teen also wasn't sure which part made him more angry; the fact that he was being denied the chance to go to his Godfather's Will reading, or the fact that Dumbledore was making out that he was doing Harry such a big favour by allowing him to leave the prison he called Privet Drive, seemingly forgetting that it was Dumbledore who put him here in the first place. Taking a deep, calming breath, Harry looked back over to the chair, the orb still sat there.

"You're right, Sirius. Absolutely, bloody right," the teen said, slowly scrunching up the Headmaster's letter. "Things are going to change. I'm going to make you and my parents proud. It's time for Harry-Freaking-Potter to enter the war."

Hope you enjoyed this first instalment and continue to read as the story unfolds. I know there was a lot of talking and 'talking', I felt it was necessary to get the story rolling. Subsequent chapters will have nowhere near as much.

As always, still looking for my Fairy.