This is my tryout at translating my fanfic "Harry Potter et l'ordre des templiers". I'm pretty sure there will be a lot of error and some stuff could be strange. Don't hesitate to tell me anything about my grammar, structure, etc. I won't take any offence, I know I have a lot to learn.

Disclaimer : everything you don't recognise is mine, the rest belong to JKR and Warner bros(I think) and bla bla bla.

Anyway, I hope you will enjoy the first chapter of my story!

6.1 The Beginning

-{6.1.1}-

His students thought of him as a malicious, cruel and rancorous man. If only they knew the real meaning of those words, and the real meaning of a lot of others. Hatred. Despair. Cruelty. Remorse. Sadism. Devotion. Horror. Courage. These words, they were talking about him, or the one around him at that instant. He was not complaining, he had made a lot of error in his youth and now he had to pay the price. The opinion of his students was just a tiny part of that price. If only those brats knew of his own opinion of the people around him right now. He was pretty sure he would be able to teach them a word or two. He was currently with the Dark Lord himself and his deatheaters, and he was one of them. He hated them, but he had to be there, that was the price he had to pay.

"My lord" started to say Bellatrix, right before being interrupted by the Lord Voldemort's spell.

"Crucio" he said slowly. On his lips, a smile, showing his joy that a small word like that could bring so much pain. He stopped his spell then started to speak.

"You know why I'm punishing you. Failing is not an option for those who wish to have the honor of being at my side in my crusade against the mudbloods and their friends." He said, his voice so close to snake's one, the Parseltongue, that people was wandering which language he liked the most, Parseltongue or English. He took a break to cast the Cruciatus curse on another deatheater, then continued his speech.

"Your failure know no limit. Not only were you not able to get the Prophecy, you let Potter destroying it. The informations inside this prophecy would have helped me understand this unfortunate string of events that slowed my rightful ascension to power fifteen years ago."

"One of my contacts told me that Potter had a lot of detentions with Snape during last school year, was he not close enough to get the Prophecy from his mind? After all, if it concern Potter, the old, crazy, headmaster of Hogwart must have told him. It would be kind of idiot, in my opinion, but that wouldn't be the stupidest thing the old man have done." Asked a deatheater. A crazy new guy without a doubt, thought Snape, an idiot soon to be death, he corrected himself.

"Never insult a wizard who is more than you could ever be! He's old, we know, he's excentric, it's public knowledge, but he's the only one which power is even close to mine! If you think Dumbledore's an idiot, what does it mean you think about me?" Voldemort told while closing in the position of the young deatheater, his red eyes holding a promised of pain, his voice full of hatred.

"I… I was believing that… I… You're the most powerful sorcerer of all time, it would never came to me to think that you're an idiot" he said, trying to calm his lord.

"Avada Kedavra" and the name of the deatheater went to history, along with the name of all the victims of the dark lord.

"I hope you learned your lesson" he said, looking the others recruits in the eyes, "it's not a good idea to underestimate your ennemies. Dumbledore is in a world of his own in the fashion and ideas's departments, but, nervertheless, he's a formidable opponent. All of you should pray he never stop to believe in redemption, or else pray to never meet him in a fight. He got a lot of power, not enough to be my equal, but with his manipulations, his allies and his knowledge he have been able to resist me for a long time… but not anymore." He finished, a bad smile on his lips darkening his haunted face, before his eyes came to Snape, who had to use all of his experience not to start shaking, or not to flee.

"Even if he was an idiot, he brought a good point. Make my doubts disappear, my dear Severus, and explain to me and your brothers why you were not able to get the Prophecy from Harry during all the time you spent together."

Snape kept his face and his voice neutrals when he answered, all the eyes looking at him, his only looking in those of the Dark Lord.

"Your assumption is correct. As you all know, Harry is simply horrid in the fine science known as occlumency, as well as in any discipline requiring precision and calm. I have been able to read his mind to my leisure during the hours he spend cleaning cauldron in my classes during his detentions. Unfortunately, he doesn't know anything about the Prophecy, nothing about the first part I brought to you all those years ago and nothing about the rest, the part we all want to know." His eyes never leaving those of the Dark Lord, even after he stopped talking. After a dozen long seconds, the-one-we-never-say-the-name started to talk again.

"Now that this point is clear, it's time to start talking about more … Serious… matters. During this failure in the ministry, I came to an understanding that our dear friend Potter really cared a lot about his doggy godfather. He even tried to hit Bellatrix with the Cruciatus curse. I think the real word to describe his performance would be… pathetic. But the important point is that he was ready to put everything he believe's in aside to tried to get revenge for his godfather" He looked in the direction of Bellatrix, she was still shaking from the Crucatius he casted on her a couple of minutes ago.

"As I was saying, pathetic. You can see the effects of a real Crucatius, when casted by the most powerful wizard of all time! Look at it, and I hope you took note, because tonight you will get the occasion to pratice!" he said, before taking a break, letting his disciples shouting a bunch of "YEAHHHH!", "ALLRIGHT!" and "LONG LIVE TO OUR LORD!". As soon as he opened his mouth again, all the others shuted theirs.

"Tonight, we will attack, to show the world how powerful I am. Because it seem, an outrage mind you, that people doesn't remember me enough to fear me. Sure, some are afraid, but not enough. And the ministry, sending statements after statements, saying they got the control of the situation. But that's the funny thing. Until now, there was no situation. We let them play long enough! This evening, we will make the world remember why my name is so feared, why everybody kneel before me and why I AM THE MOST POWERFUL WIZARD OF ALL TIME! We will even play a little mind game with our dear Potter" he said, spitting on the name of the one-who-lived. He turned to face Bellatrix, still shaking a little bit, and Macnair.

"You two, choose a dozen deatheater and prepared yourself to launch an attack!" It's your only chance to prove your worth to me. Fail… and you will see my anger know no limits. Tonight, you will attack Gloucester. I want you to destroy totaly a street that goes by the name of… London, starting our little mind games with the ministry. As of Potter, there's another small street close to the first, the 'Black Dog Way'. Destroy it too. Don't let anythings others then ashes, deaths, ruins, blackened flesh and MY MARK!"

Bellatrix seem to get back her sadistic life joy and was looking at her master, tears in her eyes "Everythings you want my lord". Macnair just said "At your order, my lord", but his hands was already on his axes, prooving his trepidation. Snape let out a mental sigh, thinking that he would not be able to inform the order of the phoenix, but happy that he was not chosen to go with them. A few minutes later, a dozen deatheather apparated away, and while horror and destructions was beginning in Gloucester, in a small house, kilometers away from there, the one-who-lived awoke, muffling a cry he was about to let out.

-{6.1.2}-

In Little Whinging, Four Privet Drive, nothing seems to disturb the calm of the night. In reality, in the smaller bedroom of the house, a teenager was awake, sweating, trying to recover his breath after a brutal awakening.

"He is dead. I killed him… again… Sirius" he said, between sobs. His dream was still vivid in his mind, the pain as sharp in his heart as when the tragedy occured, a couple of weeks ago. Three weeks, he recall, three weeks since his godfather died, because of him. Sirius Black, marauders, godfather, friend, one of his last links to his long dead parents, sometimes a father, a spark of hope for a better life for the One-Who-kindof-Lived. Three weeks, haunted by the surprised face of his godfather, disappearing behind a thin veiled archway. Haunted equally by the sinister laugh of Bellatrix Lestranges, who, like the bell of apocalypse, marked the end of the eventful life of Sirius Black, outcast of his families who found his place in the marauders.

He turned in his bed and looked at his clock. 2:17, he was able to read, mentally putting line where it was missing, without a doubt a demonstration of the 'enthousiasm to get up of Dudley', as have said Petunia the day her son broke it. Close to three hours of sleep, he thought, it was the average of what he was able to get in the last few weeks. Harry let out a sigh and got up. A short night like that could mean some problems for a lot of peoples, but it was allright for Harry. He was accustomed to pretty short sleeping hours. The reason was really simple, horror visions sent by his ennemy, now a mortal ennemy since the director decided, at last, to tell him the truth of the prophecy, and by extensions, of his life. This prophecy pushed Tom Marvolo Riddle, better known and feared under the name of Lord Voldemort, to killed Harry's parents and to try the killing curse on a 'defenseless' baby.

His awful actions would start an instopable reaction that would destroy the life of a lot of people, himself included. The-Boy-Who-Lived would have been happy to be a child like every child, living a happy childhood like the mind of an adult cannot comprehend. Unfortunately, his life was dictated by three differents powers in place.

Lord Voldemort, who started it all while trying to kill him, only to get his killing curse get back at him.

Public opinion, who would called him the-boy-who-lived, when everything is going well singing his greatness, and when there's problems, putting everything on his shoulder while claiming his crazyness.

The third and last power was the one who influenced Harry's life the most, by his actions but mostly by his inactions. Albus Perceval Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. His first action was, in his qualities of director of the most prestigious magical school in Great-Britain, was to take Harry from the still smoking remains of his parents's house and to take him to his actual place (read prison) of residence. His closest friends knew he was humiliated and neglected there. Some, a little less dense, thought it was worse then just that. The second action Harry was blaming Dumbledore of, was to not have told him sooner the prophecy. When he finaly decided to told him, it was at the worse possible moment.

After all those years of silence, he finally told Harry, after the horrible events of the departement of Mystery, after the heart breaking death of his godfather, killed before his own eyes, he finally told the-one-who-lived there was a prophecy concerning him and the dark lord. Harry now had a choice, become a murderer or a victim, letting the other titles to You-Know-Who, Lord Voldemort.

In spite of all the power who had molded Harry, he knew he only had himself to blame for his shortened night since the beginning of the summer. Even Voldemort didn't seem to disturb his night. The culpability he felt was enough to haunt his nights. He was even surprised that Voldemort was not trying to torture him, but perhaps he thought it was a waste of energy to attack him, when he was able to do it so well by himself. The survivor was almost wishing an invasion of his mind by the dark lord, a way to break the routine.

After a last look at his clock, knowing his sleeping hours was over, he get up silently and went to get his quills, parchements and books. He sit on the floor, his room too small to even get a desk, not that his uncle would have let him have one. He took his defense homework he had started the week before and continued it. Technically speaking, he should have waited for his OWL results before starting his homeworks, but this class was the one he was the best in, the class he was sure to get a great mark. So, he did it first. In reality, he didn't had much choice. He had to do something to kill his night of insomnia, and doing his homework was the only productive things he could really do. Another person, who in normal times would have been the first to thought of maximizing the woken hours, was turning in her bed, unable to fall asleep. Kilometers from Harry, a teenager, close to a young woman, was not able to get any sleep, and since insomnia was highly contagious, her father either was not able to get any sleep.

-{6.1.3}-

In the middle of the night, in his quiet house, even with the reassuring silence, mister Granger was worried about his daughter, 'cause he know she wasn't sleeping yet. At his late hour, she should be at her second or third recount of all the imperfections of her room's ceiling. He wasn't worried she was angry about him being a really, but really bad painter. No, what he was worried about was the number of imperfections his daughter must have counted to try to sleep. Considering his talent in the painting departement, she must have counted a couple of time to infinity, and was still awake.

He tried, along with his wife, to talk to her about her sleeping problem, but she was pretty slient about it, putting the fault on the spell she was hit by at the end of her school year. He have been furious that a boy, this Harry Potter, could bring his daughter in an ill-fated quest where she suffered severe injuries. He had expressed his worries and his anger to his wife, who rapidly reminded her husband that without that boy, they would have lost their little daughter to a huge troll in her first year. She also told him that she had chosen to go with him to the ministry. Mister Granger, like all good father, tried to protect his daughter by suggesting she should perhaps come back to real life, go to a real school. His dear wife, in her wisdom, destroyed again all his plans by bringing the fact that her daughter finally had real friends at school, who liked her for who she was, instead of the brain-hunter who wanted to be her friend only so she could make their homework, like at her last school. His wife was really good at destroying all his well-taught plans. He was calling that her manipulative side. His daughter was calling that her slytherin side.

But the core of the problem was still there, his daughter was not sleeping, and from what the nurse of Hogwart have told them, the fault wasn't the injuries she suffered. His wife, bored to see him coming with more and more absurd reason, finally decided to told him about her observations and hypothesis. After a couple of day of careful observation with those new informations, he didn't have any other choice but to admit she was right.

His daughter was worried about this Harry.

Every single clue was pointing in that direction. Her look every time this boy name was said aloud. The impressive number of letters she was sending him, at least one a day. Her look, filled with hope every time an owl was delivering a letter. The cruel deception written all over her face when she realised it wasn't a snowy owl. His wife and him even decided to learn the name of every single owl coming, to tell their daughter that 'Errol had arrived' or that 'Pig was here', to make sure they didn't create hope before seeing it crushed before their eyes once she discover it wasn't from Harry. But the most heart breaking thing was the sad look of their daughter before going to bed, when she understand that Harry hadn't replied to any of her letter, again. He was sure of the truth of her wife hypothesis, and now, he knew what was preventing his daugther to sleep.

And, by Merlin, was he right. She was worried sick about Harry, her best friend, along with Ronald Weasley. She had litteraly flooded him with letter, too many for her to remember the exact quantity she had sent. What was worrying the most was what she knew the exact number. The quantity of replies she had got.

Zero.

She couldn't stop worrying. She knew the order was receiving a letter every three days, as asked. She even knew their content. 'Order, I'm fine, Harry'. She also knew that Ron had gotten an answer to the only letter he had sent to his best mate, and that Harry had answered every questions of Ron, all about quidditch. And she knew Harry got her letters, because it was Hedwidg who came to get them. So with all these informations, she decided to take another way, she called at the Dursley. So she knew the most important.

Harry wasn't feeling fine. At all.

She had tried numerous times to get to talk to him. Every time, a shrilling voice, that must belong to Harry's aunt, telling her there wasn't any Potter in this house, to not call again, before the line was cut abrubtly. Her chance to talk to Harry came when she called and it was another voice who answered. The voice seemed unsure, like it didn't know what to do, before asking her what she wanted to Harry. When she answered that she wanted to talk to him because she was worried, the voice told her real quick, like it was hiding, that she should try her luck the next day, because Harry would be alone at home. Before she had the time to thank the owner of the voice, he hang up. So the next she called again. She let the phone ring.

A couple of minutes.

Finally, HE answered. The conversation was really short, shorter then the time he took to answer. Harry told her he was fine, not to call anymore because his uncle didn't want him to use the phone. Then he hang up. Politly, but abrubtly. But it wasn't his words nor his actions who worried Hermione.

It was his voices.

It was broken, coming straight from an old horror movie, dead, lacking any emotions. She couldn't help herself but to compare it to Darth Vader voice, and the Sith voice was joyful and overflowing with life compare to Harry's. On those dark thoughts, she let out a sigh, and started again her long count to infinity, not suspecting that kilometers from there, in the smallest room of the Burrow, Ron wasn't able to not fall asleep, even with all his worries about Harry.

-{6.1.4}-

At 4 Privet Drive, Harry put away his parchments, feather and books and went to start the breakfast. He just finished to lay the table a few second before his uncle came into the kitchen. He hurried up to give beacon and eggs to his uncle and aunt. Vernon sit down, grumbling.

"Hurry up! I'm not like… you lot, who just sit around all day doing nothing, I'm a real honest man who work to earn my living! And go get my newspapers! I'm busy eating."

Harry opened the door quickly, look around him to see if there was anything strange in the street, except him, before taking the newspapers and bringing him to his uncle. He then served Dudley, who came in the kitchen while he was outside. Harry then waited a few seconds to see if any member of his 'family' had anything to say or to ask, then took his portions of the breakfast and went to his room under the angry stare of his uncle, who, surprisingly, didn't say anything.

"Don't spill anything on the floor or your bed or else!" shouted his aunt, to whom he didn't even answered, knowing that even if he made a mess in his rooms, he would be the one to clean up. After all, it was one of his numerous tasks around the house. He and his uncle got into an agreement. He would do his chores, a little less numerous then the previous summers, and once they were done, he could go anywhere he wanted. As long as anywhere was in his room or away from the home. The main 'plus' for Harry was that he didn't have to suffer the cutting remark of his Uncle, whose where not up to Snape level, but were nonethe'less pretty annoying. Even Dudley seemed to be a part of the deal, he hadn't yet insulted Harry since the beginning of the summer, having left Harry alone most of the time, the inverse of the last summers. It was a pretty hard thing to do, considering that the one-who-lived couldn't left the home, being kept inside by the members of the order of the phoenix. He was therefore spending most of his time in his tiny room.

"POTTER! Come her RIGHT NOW" shouted Vernon from the dining room while Harry was in the bathroom of the second floor, claening it after his breakfast. He stopped and went downstairs, taking with him the basket of dirty laundry, his next chore when the cleaning would be done.

He hurried up in the kitchen, curious about what was putting his uncle in this state so soon in the morning. When he entered, he found Petunia, Dudley and Vernon in the corridor leading to the living room.

"A ugly, noisy, dirty bird just came in OUR dining room to ruin our breakfast with this… this… letter!" yelled his uncle, pointing toward the table, where a letter was neatly placed right next to Vernon's plate. Harry walked to the table, picked up the letter and looked at the addressee and the sender. It was a missive from the ministry of magic, not to Harry but to 'the residents of 4, Privet Drive'.

"It's a letter to you, 'residents of 4, Privet Drive'. You want to read it uncle Vernon?" said Harry, not able to stop himself to offer it to the close-minded man, just to see all the color leave his face, before switching to an angry red.

"I have nothing to do with you … monsters. Get it out of our sight. It's your stuff, if it wasn't for that damn…" he said, before getting his control back, " if it wasn't of him, you wouldn't been here, especially after your little trick that almost cost Dudley's life last year"

Harry, knowing not to push his luck anyfurther, took the letters and opened it. There was a pamphlet inside, "How to protect yourself from the dark part of the wonderful magical world. A guide to muggle parents with magical children" he read it aloud, before holding it to Vernon. "It's not for me, it's for you" he told them, before asking himself who in the ministry of magic, finaly realized there was muggle parent out there wanting information about the danger hanging over them and their children. This time, it wasn't only to magical parents.

"I told you, and I will not told you again, we want nothing to do with freaks of your species. Get your dirty stuff and go back to your chores" yelled Vernon.

Harry went to his room to put the pamphlet and the enveloppe away from Vernon's eyes, then hurried up to the bathroom to finish his cleaning chores, before Dudley decided to come and made a mess of it just for the sake of seeing his nephew clean it again. He then went to his laundry job, before doing the dishes, the last of his chores for the day. He went back to his room and tried to get Sirius out of his mind by doing his homework, but he wasn't able to forget for a tiny second the tragic destiny of his godfather. He even read the ministry flyers, but he didn't find anything useful for him, already knowing most thanks to Hogwart, mainly his self-taught defense against the dark art. Furthermore, the majority of what was in the guide was purely logical. The guide was definitively destined to muggle, and a muggle like Vernon could have learned a thing or two, like why it was a wrong idea to aim a gun to the face of an half-giant.

In the middle of the afternoon, he got another letter from Hermione. He took it and tossed it in a pile in the corner of his room, joining all the other letters from his friend, their seals still unopened, save the first one. It was the only one he had read, the one that made him toss all the other one without reading them. That letter was all about Sirius, Hermione telling him that he had to go over his sadness and continue to live his life, that Sirius wouldn't want him to waste his life over his death. Harry was furious. "How dare she talk about him!" he had shouted, before thowing it away in a corner. All the subsequent letters had taken the same road, without being read. He tried, without success, to convince Hedwidg to stop going to the Granger. He had thought a fleeting moment to lock her, but his owl was his most faithful friend. Never had she turn her back on him, never had she rejected him. So he decided that tossing a letter or two in a corner of his room every day was little to pay to keep his friendship with Hedwidg. And he didn't want to prevent her from flying, he himself wanted to go on his broom so much…

He went to bed around nine o' clock, trying to sleep, but even as tired as he was because of the lack of sleep in the last month, he wasn't able to fall asleep before midnight. He was not suspecting that a few meters from him, a teenager going by the name of Dudley Dursley too wasn't able to fall asleep.

-{6.1.5}-

Dudley was making round in his bed since close to six hours.

"Soon" he tought aloud. He was waiting for a peculiar sound coming from the other side of the wall. So many differences between them make that this wall didn't even seem to exist since the return of Harry. This wall, in Dudley's eyes, was a physical representation of all those differences. Dudley the spoiled kid. Harry the neglected. Dudley the hooligan. Harry the noble. Dudley the fat. Harry the skeleton-like. Dudley snoring. Harry crying. Dudley and his gang. Harry. Dudley the muggle. Harry the magician. That night was the night, the one where he would try to get a little inside the magical world, his cousin's world. He didn't know, but what he was about to do, get out of his little confortable world, was gryffondor worthy. The few meters between them was everything, and nothing.

A couple of minutes later, the noise so much waited for finally begun to manifest themselves. His cousin was moving in his bed, he was about to wake up. Dudley waited another two long minutes before getting up, doing as little noise as possible, and went to the door to his cousin's room. He opened the door without making any noise and waited until Harry was completely awake.

"Not again! Sirius…" He heard Harry murmured.

"Harry" he said as quietly as possible.

His cousin turn and look at his cousin, sending him an anxious but even more surprised look.

"Dudley? What are you doing here?"

"Harry, the guide, is it talking about… you know, the ugly things that attacked us last summer?"

At that point in the conversation, Harry was completely lost. Dudley, in his room, in the middle of the night, talking about dementors who attacked them, emphasis on the plural, last summer.

"You are talking about the dementors? Yeah, they are talking about them a little."

"Can I read it?"

"Yes, no problem, where is it again? I remember, they are in the corner, next to the letters pile."

Dudley sent an inquisitive look at the letters, took the guide and started to read it, a torchlight giving him the much needed light to be able to see anything in the darkness of the night. That let Harry regain his spirits. He thought that Dudley's new attitude toward him this summer was perhaps not the result of the new rules, but to last year events.

"So, I can't do anything else then run for my life against dementors?" asked Dudley, disappointed.

"I'm sorry but that's the only option for a muggle"

"Does vampires are really existing?Have you ever met one? You think that I could beat one?"

Harry couldn't stop himself from giving a small laugh. "Yes, they are real, no, I don't think you could beat one and I've never met one. But one of my friend is a werewolf"

"Really, how are he?"

"Alive…"

"Sorry, I didn't want to… you know…"

"It's alright… Dragons are real, did you knew?"

"Really? Real like… real?"

"Yes, let me relate to you my two encounters with dragons…"

Amd like that, they started to talk for agood chunk of the night, before Dudley decided to get some sleep, letting Harry to his homework. It was the first of a long series of nights where Harry disclosed to his cousins the world he was living in, a world that was definitively captivating his cousin.