Hey all.
So, Its a little late. I know, I know, I am an awful human being for making you wait so long. Regardless, here is the finished rewrite of chapter 1.
I won't be doing this for every chapter, I will be making smaller edits that should be posted for each chapter over the course of the week.
In the meantime be mindful of the fact that this rewrite will have created a few inconsistencies with all the other chapters. I'm working on it.
Lastly, shout out to Udm17, who has been my amazing editor.
The Dark Phoenix
I take no credit for any names places and ideas that you recognize from elsewhere.
Quotes and inspirations that are specific to this chapter are:
"To be or not to be" from Shakespeare's Hamlet
"How could you leave us." by NF
"Do not go gently into that good night." By Dylan Thomas
"I will not bow" (Honestly have no idea from where)
The Dark Phoenix
"Speech"
'Thoughts'
Memories
$ Parseltongue $
The Dark Phoenix
Loud piteous sobs tore out of the small frame of one Harry Potter as he lay in his tiny dark cupboard. The world was a cold and cruel place. The world had never been a fair place, but that didn't make it any easier when the illusion was shattered for the first, or every time it happened after that.
'What did I do to deserve this?' Harry pleaded the unknown, in the depths of his mind.
'It's not fair!' He wailed, hugging his crushed hand against his chest.
Harry had always tried to be good enough. He never understood why he hadn't been to begin with, but he tried.
'It wasn't my fault!'
His Uncle and Aunt had always highlighted how much of a burden he was, how his awful parents had left him here after they had gotten themselves killed.
Harry sneered at the thought of his parents.
'A drunken drug addict, and a disgraceful whore. What did I do to deserve them?'
Anger gave way to anguish as he silently asked.
'What did I do to deserve to be an orphan?'
Nothing.
He had done absolutely nothing wrong,
Nothing to deserve this.
Why then?
Was it his parents?
Did any of his filthy parents' actions justify all the pain that he felt?
'I HATE them!'
Howling with tears Harry, rocked back and forth on as he curled upon himself.
Anger, loathing, resentment, bitterness, anguish, self-pity, and despair flowed through Harry's mind. It was a common place for him to be nowadays. Each day began and ended with him trapped in his shell of a mind, rueing his existence in this godforsaken place.
'How could they leave me?'
'Why would they leave me?'
'I need you, I needed you …'
'But you just left me.'
Harry sobbed, waiting, praying for sleep to take him; but nothing came. No one would save him, no one ever helped him, nobody cared.
"I didn't deserve this!" Harry screamed again, in his mind.
Wailing piteously on the bloodied floor, Harry sunk into the depths of his memories. Hoping for an escape, but there was none. Every memory, every single blasted moment in his wretched life was miserable.
Snivelling, Harry remembered the first time he had felt pain - not physical pain - but deep emotional anguish.
It was one of his first memories. It wasn't a happy one.
None of his memories were happy.
Harry came excitedly bouncing into the parlour, a small child's book in hand, where Aunt Petunia was currently devoting her time to teaching her young - but nevertheless frighteningly large - son, Dudley, how to read.
"Ant Petoonia! Ant Petoonia!" The three-year-old Harry exclaimed, excited happiness and pride lacing his every word.
The previously smiling Petunia Dursley looked up from her reading with her son with a scowl marring her face. "What?!"
Harry's excited happiness visibly drained from his face upon seeing his 'Ant's' unhappiness, but he continued on proudly - regardless of the nagging feeling of anxiety that was creeping into his mind.
"I can read! I can read!"
Dudley's content smile had by now turned into a murderous expression directed towards Harry, a look promising nothing pleasant for Harry.
Ant Petoonia's scowl turned into an angry frown, oblivious of her son's expression.
"Impossible freak, Dudley has only just begun reading and he is four and much smarter, aren't you Diddykins?" Petunia finished turning and smiling down at her four-year-old son -whose face had magically turned into a beatific smile - before scowling at Harry once more.
"You're just lying, freak."
Gone was Harry's happy expression a betrayed and heart-broken look crossing his face as tears slowly filled the corners of his eyes, Harry desperately tried once more.
"But I'm not lying Ant Petoonia! I promise!"
But seeing the contemptuous look of disbelief on his Aunt's face - and the derisively gloating sneer on his cousin's face - Harry continued.
"Look, I'll read to you, I promise I wasn't lying."
So, Harry sat on the floor - too afraid of angering his already annoyed Aunt to sit on a sofa - and began reading the first chapter of Charlotte's Web.
Harry read the whole first two pages perfectly - albeit with a few pronunciation errors - before turning back to his Aunt happily exclaiming once more.
"See! I can read Ant Petoonia, I can!"
But Harry's happiness evaporated once more as he saw the cold look of venomous resentment marring the horse-like face of his aunt.
"You freak! You did this just to demean Dudley, didn't you?" Petunia hissed angrily, before turning to her son and smiling benevolently.
"Don't worry Didykins, he's just a cruel freak who needs to be punished." And turning back to Harry with the benevolent expression gone once more, she continued.
"You dirty liar, go weed the front walk! Now!" She ordered when Harry didn't respond instantly.
Tears beginning to fall, Harry quickly scurried to obey her orders, a devastated expression never leaving his face; As he worked, however, he resolved that one day he would be good enough to impress his aunt. He wouldn't always be looked down on, they would like him one day, Harry just had to be good enough.
He had tried.
He was better, but they still hated him.
He was the better one, but they never believed him.
'They just don't care about me because I am not their son.'
Is that what it was?
Harry was feeling very proud of himself.
Harry had - since his reading fiasco; which had happened shortly after his third birthday - spent the past six months devoting his time to reading and writing - Dudley's daily departure to school worked miracles for focusing in the Dursley residence - in the hopes that he could impress his aunt.
Harry was very proud of himself.
He had - after months of hard work; work of which he was also very proud - succeeded in writing his own miniature story.
It was very short.
It was not nearly as thrilling as 'The Magician's Nephew' - the book he was currently reading- but Harry was proud of it.
It was not written very neatly - while every word was in and of itself legible, it was very nearly illegible - but Harry didn't think any other child his age could accomplish this feat.
Harry happily looked at the time, to see that Dudley would be arriving in two long hours, so, excited and happy, Harry quickly grabbed his story and went in search of Aunt Petunia.
Needless to say, it was a heartbroken and betrayed Harry that returned moments later, having been accused of both stealing another, older, child's work and of trying to make Dudley seem stupid - "You can never be better." Aunt Petunia had said.
Weeping ceaselessly, Harry resolved to work harder so that he could prove that he was good enough for the Dursley's.
Acceptance.
"You can never be better."
That was all he craved, but each time he was rejected.
"You can never be better."
It was because he was not yet good enough, Harry had decided.
"You can never be better."
I don't need to be better; I just need to be good enough.
"You can never be better."
'Why?
'Why can't I be better?'
Today was Harry's birthday.
Dudley's party five weeks had been awe-inspiring, Dudley had received 21 birthday presents.
It was a new record, and Harry hoped that maybe his birthday would break that record.
All Dudley's friends from kindergarten had come, Harry hadn't liked them, but still Harry wished he was old enough to make his own friends; sadly, however, he knew that nobody else would be invited for his birthday.
'But there will be cake,' Harry thought gleefully. 'I wonder if they'll get me a cake bigger than Dudley's.'
Excitedly getting up from his bedroll in his cupboard, Harry idly hoped that maybe he would be allowed to sleep in the spare bedroom from now on, as a birthday present.
Getting up from his bed Harry began going about a regular day, impatiently waiting for a surprise party like Dudley's.
Hours slowly ticked by as Harry alternated between reading, writing, and weeding the lawn for his aunt. Slowly doubt started to worm it's way into Harry's mind.
'Have they forgotten? No, they're just waiting for supper to have the party.'
Similar thoughts flowed through Harry's mind whenever he saw his relatives, but he kept assuring himself that it would happen, it was meant to be a surprise party after all - just like Dudley's.
Lunch time came, and no sign of anything being different from any other day came, and Harry's worry increased.
'Am I not good enough for a birthday party?'
'No,' Harry thought adamantly. 'I've gotten so much better; I'm going to be the best in my class.'
Slowly the afternoon hours ticked by, and Harry's doubt was no longer rebutted.
Had the Dursley's forgotten?
Harry silently prayed that they hadn't, but as afternoon gave way to early evening Harry's hope began to die, and when dinner finally came it was with barely restrained tears and a heartbrokenly dejected face that Harry attended the meal.
Hope blossomed in his chest midway through the meal as he listened to Uncle Vernon, in an attempt to avoid crying at the dinner table.
"It's a very special day today." He announced, and Harry looked up sharply not believing his ears.
"Indeed, ladies and gentlemen, a day like today will not likely come to pass at all in the near future."
Harry's eyes widened, birthdays were only once a year, after all, and Uncle Vernon was describing it perfectly.
"Today ladies and gentlemen, drumroll please." Vernon asked, a delighted look on his face, and Harry, Dudley and Petunia happily obliged.
"Today," Vernon said over the ever-increasing noise of the drumroll. " Today I received a promotion at Grunnings!"
Squeals of happiness emanated from Petunia, and Dudley looked prouder than ever of his father, his hero. Nobody noticed the tears that began pouring down from Harry's eyes, nobody noticed the inconsolable look of devastation that settled on his face, nobody noticed Harry at all.
Bitterness slowly wormed its way into Harry's heart, the Dursleys hated him.
Dudley had a massive party, couldn't he have had even a small one?
It WASN'T!
Did his parents really hate him that much, to leave him with these mean people?
IT WASN'T FAIR!
Tears pouring down his face, Harry got up from the table and began going towards his cupboard, he nearly made it.
"Freak, where do you think you're going?"
Vernon called after him, finally taking notice of the second child in his house.
" 'M tired Uncle Vernon."
Harry replied in the most even voice he could manage, not turning in the hopes that he would be allowed to go, and they wouldn't notice his tears.
"Come back here."
Harry rubbed his face in a desperate attempt to remove any trace of his tears, before reluctantly returning to the dinner table and coming to stand next to his Uncle.
Uncle Vernon wrapped his arm around Harry and turned to face his family once more.
"Now, Harry. Don't think we've forgotten you."
Disbelief flashed across Harry's face momentarily, before Uncle Vernon continued.
"It is your birthday after all."
Joy briefly flitted across Harry's face, 'They remembered!'
"And so, to celebrate this wondrous occasion - fourth birthdays only happen once after all - Petunia and I have decided that you are now old enough for …"
'A new bedroom?' Harry thought hopefully, ' A library card?'
A cruel smirk settled on Uncle Vernon's face, and horror settled in Harry as he finished.
"Learning to clean and tidy up the entire house!"
Snickers and sneers of derision, muffled behind Aunt Petunia's napkin and Dudley's meaty fist, were audible and Harry began sobbing uncontrollably, but laughter - at his expense - muffled it out.
Harry began fleeing to his cupboard, bumping into the wall as he was unable to see through the tears that he was sobbing out uncontrollably. Harry heard rather than saw his Uncle begin to come after him, he desperately tried to enter his cupboard before he was stopped; before he could enter the cupboard, however, Uncle Vernon grabbed onto his shoulder.
Sneering, he demanded viciously. "Where do you think you're going, freak?"
"Just leave me alone." Harry said, and to his great surprise his shoulder was released, and he entered his cupboard sobbing.
It wasn't fair.
Why did he deserve this?
Bitter resentment bubbled within him, as Harry - in his last conscious thoughts before he slipped into blissful oblivion - vowed to be better than them, they didn't deserve him, he was going to be better.
Harry was ignorant of; however, the wrathful expression of his Uncle and the venomously horrified face of his Aunt as Vernon Dursley heaved his huge mass of the floor onto which he had been magically launched.
How dare the freak?
Hatred, stemming from an unconscious fear, manifested within Vernon as he swore loudly and went over to the ungrateful freak's cupboard door and yanked it, but to no avail as Harry's subconscious magic held the door firmly shut.
Vowing to stamp the freakishness out of the boy, Vernon went over to his wife and in hushed - so as to prevent their oblivious son from hearing - and furious tones Vernon ensured that Petunia would drive the brat to work.
'Nothing but good old work will be able to stamp this out.' Vernon sneered, his ugly face contorting hideously to match the ideas that were being concocted within his foul mind.
'IT WASN'T FAIR!
'But, if I'm worthless … Why do they care?'
Why did everyone care to say it and not leave him alone?
Harry awoke early on September 1st, 1984 today was an important day, today was his first day of school. Harry was positively bouncing with anticipation; learning had always been Harry's favourite thing.
As Harry determinedly swept the floor he idly wondered what they would learn; Reading and writing were easily Harry's favourite things and he had thoroughly enjoyed finishing "The Return of the King." as his summer days came to a close.
Harry knew he was further ahead and smarter than most children his age, but he didn't worry; Surely, they would teach according to skill.
Bitterly ignoring the sneers from his cousin and the disdainful sniffs of his aunt, Harry ate quietly determinedly ignoring the dull throbbing in the back of his head where his Uncle had absentmindedly whacked him; he never had even attempted to be civil since Harry's fourth birthday.
Quietly walking - "freaks aren't allowed in cars." Uncle Vernon had sneered cruelly as he helped Dudley into the car - to school Harry enjoyed the last of the warm weather and the pleasant songs of the sparrows in the nearby trees and rooftops.
Harry quietly slipped into the classroom after being directed there by an annoyed teacher - "Late on the first day?" He had sneered - to be met by a disapproving stare from the teacher, who resumed introducing everyone to each other once he had settled in the desk at the corner of the class.
Harry had been - justifiably in his opinion - horrified at the fact that they were expected to spend hours sounding out and copying syllables, simple syllables. It was an insult! Resolving to ask the teacher during midday break, Harry set about finishing as much as quickly as possible, even if that meant going several chapters ahead.
The near constant sneers from Dudley and his equally ugly band of obnoxious oafs was quite distracting, but Harry knew by now - living with Dudley helped in this regard - how to ignore his surroundings.
When time came for the work to be handed in, the teacher momentarily raised her eyebrows before sneering down at Harry disdainfully, "Show-off."
Tears accumulated in Harry's eyes at the pronouncement, 'Why does everyone hate me?'
Math - 'If it can even be called that.' Harry sneered in his mind- was equally horrifying. They expected them to count… 'Is this a joke?'
When lunch finally arrived, Harry went to speak to the teacher.
"Yes?" Sneered the teacher.
"'M sorry I was late, professor." Harry said, in the hopes to appease the apparently annoyed teacher, who sniffed disdainfully.
"Is that all?" He sneered once more.
"Sir, I was wondering …"
"Yes?" He drawled, impatience lining his voice.
"I found the work a tad to easy, and was -"
"Arrogant brat, get lost! You will do the work that is given you and that is final." The teacher snapped.
"Yes, sir." Harry mumbled, and quickly scurried out after his classmates.
His classmates proved no better, as Dudley had already inflamed them against him.
It just wasn't fair!
It wasn't only the Dursleys, everyone hated Harry.
Why did they all hate him?
Harry grumpily yanked the weeds from the garden, he wasn't annoyed with the task at hand per say but he was annoyed with the mundane waste of time that it was - he could be learning something- fall was nearing its end however, and soon Harry wouldn't have to bother weeding.
Heartened by this fact Harry began yanking the weeds out with far more vigour, but his chore was interrupted by a quiet voice.
$ Sstop making sso much damn noise!$
$ Ssorry Aunt Petunia. $ Harry replied subconsciously, before his eyes widened in shock as he realized the voice was coming from inside the garden.
$Wait, what? Who said that? $
$ You speak? $ An equally shocked voice replied.
$ Of course, I speak! $ Harry replied, rolling his eyes.
$ You speak the tongue of serpents? $ Incredulousness not leaving the voice.
$ I told you I - the tongue of what? $ Harry stumbled, upon registering what had been said.
A small garden snake slithered out of the plants and next to Harry's small, dirty hand.
$ You speak! $ The serpent exclaimed happily, wriggling in apparent joy.
$ This is … strange. Is it normal for humans to speak? $ Harry curiously enquired.
The snake reared back, replying indignantly with offence lining his voice.
$ Of course not! You, Speaker, are very rare and special. $
So they talked for hours on end, discussing mundane things had never been so pleasant for Harry who had never had anyone to talk to - the adults always hated him, and Dudley had ensured that he had no friends - and the snake, despite its lack of cognitive abilities, provided enjoyable conversation for Harry.
So the dreary hours slipped by enjoyably, until it ended - as it always did - in disaster.
Harry hardly noticed the shadow that loomed over him, until a large boot descended from above and crushed the hand upon which the snake had been resting.
Crying out in pain and shock, Harry turned to see his Uncle towering over him, his face purple and contorted in rage - and fear? Was that fear? - rendering it far more ugly than usual.
"Get - inside - now - Freak!" Uncle Vernon commanded, in a voice so menacing and so full of rage that it was quivering and halting.
Harry whimpered in pain, and wrapped his arms around his now crushed hand, before quickly scurrying inside, followed by his wrathful Uncle.
As soon as they entered the house, Vernon slapped him across the face sending him sprawling across the floor, blood and tears pouring down from his nose and eyes.
"Get - in - your - cupboard - now! You filthy freak! Stay there! No meals!"
Vernon's face contorted further than Harry thought possible as he ground out the commands in such a hateful voice that Harry feared for his life.
Scurrying as quickly as he possibly could despite the pain and shock, Harry scurried to his cupboard and locked the door.
'It was fear.' Harry concluded several sleepless and painful eternities later.
'They were afraid of him.'
Why would they fear him?
They knew he was better.
They weren't better.
They weren't good.
They weren't noble.
They wanted him to be crushed,
They wanted him to be worthless.
They were scared and afraid he would dwarf them. The only joy in their pathetic existence was to see him suffer. To make him feel pain.
In that moment, he vowed - though he knew it not - to become the wizard who would mark his generation, and those to come.
Do not go gently into that good night.
He would never bow.
He would never break.
Those who had wronged him, would suffer.
They are weak and inferior, and they would bow down to him.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
His eyes snapped open, brilliant emerald orbs staring into the darkness, reddened from tears, but dry.
'They will feel my rage.'
Blissful oblivion took him instantly, as he collapsed from exhaustion, both emotional and physical. A vow, a promise, an oath chanting in the recesses of his mind.
They would all burn in his rage.
The Dark Phoenix
Harry awoke slowly and stretched as widely as was possible in the confines of a tiny cupboard, seizing up in shock as he came to a startling realization.
His hand had been crushed to the point that he couldn't move his fingers properly, that was yesterday.
Examining his hand closely, only light purple bruises were present in the place of some of the cuts, and his hand was moving freely and easily when he had just stretched.
Harry stared.
…
…
...
And stared.
…
…
'What ...
The …
Hell?!'
Disbelievingly, Harry flexed his fingers only feeling slightly sore as he did.
'That's not possible.'
Blinking Harry rubbed his eyes, before staring incredulously back at his nearly healed hand.
'Don't stare a gift horse in the mouth, I guess.' Harry decided, getting up and leaving the cupboard.
Quickly setting the table and finishing his early morning chores, Harry discreetly filched one of the apples.
'It's not like they'll notice anyway.' Harry sneered.
Biting into the fresh fruit, Harry grabbed his school supplies and left.
'I'll arrive at school early. Very early.' Harry absentmindedly thought as he walked through the chilly streets of Surrey. 'But the library will be open and avoiding the Dursleys is just an added benefit.'
Returning the condescending sneer to his teacher, as Harry passed him in the school hall, Harry hurried towards the library. Entering the vast and empty room, Harry scurried over to a corner where he proceeded to read until school began.
Entering the class five minutes early, Harry ignored the disdainful glance his teacher gave him and absentmindedly noted the scowl on Dudley's face, as he put his school books on his desk.
'As if these can even be called books.' Harry scoffed mentally.
The teacher as per usual droned on meaninglessly once class began, and Harry felt himself becoming more and more annoyed. Finally, after nearly an eternity, they were told to begin an assignment, in counting of all things.
Lips curling in disdain Harry finished the pitiful work in ten minutes, when he raised his hand calling for the teachers' attention. Quelling his annoyance when the teacher visibly ignored his hand for as long as possible before responding to Harry.
"Yes, Mr. Potter?" He drawled impatiently.
'As if he's the one waiting here.' Harry growled to himself.
"Sir, I finished the assignment."
"Did you now?" The teacher scoffed, snatching it from Harry's hands.
Surprise followed by annoyance flickered across the teachers face as he read the perfectly done assignment.
"Sit quietly Potter, the world does not revolve around you."
Slapping the paper back down the teacher stalked away, visibly sour at being unable to ridicule Harry's work.
Anger flared in Harry nonetheless, he was expected to just sit there?
'Stupid teacher.'
One moment he was scowling angrily at his brown haired teacher, then laughter broke out.
Uproarious laughter emanated from his classmates.
His teacher's hair had just turned blue.
Blue.
What on earth?
That was not possible.
Harry had wanted him humiliated, now his hair was blue.
Was he responsible?
Was this the same phenomenon that had healed his hand?
He had wanted his hand to be healed …
Then it had healed.
He had wanted the teacher humiliated. ..
And his hair turned blue.
'But that can't be …
No, I've always been better.
This just proves it.'
Smugly smirking back at the teacher, Harry promised that he would learn how to replicate this situation at will.
He had always been better.
The Dark Phoenix
He studied the book before him.
Brows creased in concentration, his face slowly contorted into a scowl as time passed.
He kept studying it.
His arm began to quiver as he held it outstretched towards the book.
His eyes never strayed from it.
'Blue! Blue! BLUE! BLUE! I want it to turn BLUE!' He desperately screamed in his mind.
Time kept ticking by.
Harry kept waiting for it to turn blue, slowly, painfully slowly he began to lose faith.
What if he couldn't turn things blue at will?
What if it hadn't been him?
If he couldn't, was he still better than them? Than everyone?
Was he really?
Or were they right?
Fury and denial welled up within Harry at that thought, flinging it from his mind he wiped the tears that he hadn't been aware were falling and turned towards the book,
Stupid book.
It wasn't anything, Harry was better than a book.
'Turn Blue.' He commanded fury lacing his mind's voice.
Nothing happened.
Harry wanted to scream.
Scream in frustration, why wasn't it working!
Staring hard at the book Harry considered the plausible answers:
'Either I'm not responsible, which is neither true nor acceptable, or I am doing something wrong,'
'Likely something is wrong, but what?'
'Is it that I don't truly want the book to turn blue as much as I did the teachers hair?'
'If it is …'
Turning back to the book Harry was beginning to hate he narrowed his eyes in concentration.
'I want this book blue. This book is supposed to be blue. This book is going … No, this book IS blue.'
A blue glow suddenly surrounded the book, and a wave of exhaustion struck Harry. The last thing he saw before falling into oblivion was the blue cover of his book.
'I knew that had always been better than these vermin.'
The Dark Phoenix
Sweat dripped from Harry's brow as he weeded the lawn. Staring down at the dry dirt filled with withered weeds and plants, Harry couldn't help but feel the dryness in his throat, parched from the heat and lack of water.
'Peasants work.' Harry snarled to himself. ' I sit here, forced to slave for these vermin like a peasant. Disgraceful.'
Swiping his hand through the air, several weeds were yanked from the ground by nothing.
'They should be slaving away at my will.' Angrily slashing his hand again through the air again, the weeds were thrown across the garden into the bag.
'This is bloody exhausting.' A voice whined in the depths of his mind.
'And? Do we bow to them because in the face of adversity? No, we prove that we are better.' A larger voice in his mind responded vehemently.
Tiredly repeating the process, Harry weeded the entire garden before entering the backdoor into the cool air of the Dursley household. Idly removing his tattered and worn shoes, Harry wiped any traces of dirt from his pants before entering the kitchen.
"There better not be any dirt on my floors!" Aunt Petunia's shrill voice shrieked from the upstairs.
Not deigning the pest with a reply, Harry quietly filled himself a glass of cool water and greedily began to consume the life-giving liquid, savouring it's refreshing frigidity.
Turning around in the hopes of quietly getting a book from his cupboard and reading in the cool darkness, Harry turned right into the house prune, who was somehow related to Harry.
"Freak." He spat, his face purpling at the thought of Harry, or rather at the idea of thinking, Harry absently noticed once more.
"Uncle." Harry replied, in an emotionless voice unfit for one his age. A voice that seemed to set his uncle on edge, a cold cruel glint entering his eyes.
A spark of fear had entered his uncle's eyes, despite Harry's small frame. An internal war waged within him, before Vernon spat.
"Paint the front fence." And he waddled away, visibly unnerved by Harry.
Cold amusement caused a small, smug, smirk to form on Harry's face as he too walked away.
Sighing to himself, Harry counted towards the end of his miserable life with the Dursleys.
Two months till sixth birthday, twelve years till leaving day.
Little did Harry know how soon that day would actually arrive.
The Dark Phoenix
Harry absently stroked a small grass snake as he read under the shade of a tree in the school property. His stomach grumbled quietly, but Harry paid it no mind, lunch had just begun and Harry - seeing as it was his sixth birthday - had no food to eat.
The shade was enjoyable, Harry thought, mainly to distract his stomach from the idea of food, and quite peaceful; that, however, was largely due to the fact that everyone either hated or feared him and he had been given a large berth.
The peace was, however, short-lived. A shadow soon loomed over him, and the grass snake disappeared into the roots of the tree. Consciously preventing himself from looking up, Harry drawled with disinterest.
"Yes?"
"Hello, freak." An all too familiar voice sneered, causing several snickers amongst the group.
A cold gleam entered Harry's piercing emerald eyes, as he looked up into the fat face of his obese cousin.
"We just noticed," His cousin continued, a gleeful note entering his voice.
"That today is your birthday." He finished in a mock ecstatic voice.
"And seeing as nobody wants - er - was celebrating with you, we thought we'd make a celebration." False sympathy lined his voice, and the sniggers increased.
"I believe I was enjoying myself well enough alone." Harry replied in a cold voice, as he slowly rose to his feet.
"But Harry, you have to celebrate with someone!" Dudley exclaimed, horror in his voice.
"And seeing as you don't have parents … or friends …" Laughter began to erupt amongst Dudley's gang.
"We thought we'd help you out!"
Harry's eyes were as cold as ice, but he did not react causing Dudley to continue.
"We thought you'd be lonely, especially because you don't have parents you see."
Harry's eye twitched, but he did not otherwise react.
"Not that you'd want parents like yours of course, a drug addict and a whore, I almost feel badly."
Gales of laughter emanated from his friends, causing Dudley to smirk and keep going.
"But of course, a useless little freak like you would be born to equally useless parents…"
Dudley found himself suddenly unable to continue as he flew through the air.
Horrified gasps emitted from his gang, as he landed with a sickening crunch twenty yards away.
Turning as one towards Harry, they yelled as they charged him.
Panting from the sudden decrease in energy, Harry's fury was not diminished. Shoving both hands forward in his rage - how dare they call me useless! - they went flying like Dudley.
It was only then that Harry realized.
'Oh…' A wave of utter exhaustion hit him, and Harry collapsed.
'Damn!'
Then darkness enveloped him.
The Dark Phoenix
With a sharp cry, and a flash of crimson a bird appeared on the unconscious form of Harry Potter.
Not a regular bird - Aeolus would be furious if any were to name him such – He was a beautiful and inherently magical bird. An unearthly crimson glow seemed to envelop him, in stark contrast to the pitch-black colour of his feathers. The eyes were a dancing crimson flame, as they looked at Harry.
Trilling with an inherent sadness in the tone, two dark talons latched onto the child, before the whole thing disappeared in a crimson flash of flames.
The Dark Phoenix
Albus Brian Wulfric Percival Dumbledore, international hero, political titan, Headmaster of the most prestigious school in the world, was sucking lemon drops.
He idly twirled his obnoxiously long beard as he sat at his desk, staring into the flames of the fireplace, basking in himself.
The world lay at his feet.
It was no exaggeration; everything was according to plan. The wizarding saviour was in the hands of muggles, the Wizengmot cowed out of both fear - of losing their reputations- and respect for defeating the second Dark Lord that had arisen during his life.
But most importantly, Dumbledore controlled the education.
Every successful regime controlled the education, it was a subtle method to ensure future agreement with the currently less … accepted aspects of a regime.
Suddenly, Dumbledore was jolted out of his contemplations by the triggering of several of the eccentric trinkets in his office.
Alarm and worry crossed his face, and he instantly apparated away.
Fawkes trilled sadly from his perch and returned to his rest.
The Dark Phoenix
With a loud groan, Harry awoke slowly. An ear-splitting headache had splintered through his head, before he nearly jumped out of his skin in shock as he looked up into two orbs of crimson flames.
"What the hell?"
'It is frowned upon to speak with such manners.' A voice sounded in his head.
Jumping in fright, Harry quickly scanned his surroundings before his eyes reverted back to the majestical bird that appeared to be resting directly above him.
"Was that you?"
'No, it was the bedframe.' Came the snarky reply from within his mind.
Lips twitching slightly, Harry asked. "Where am I?"
'Family ancestral Castle, no need to speak out loud child.'
"Family Ancestral … What?"
Black wings engulfed in a crimson glow swept outwards.
'I'm surrounded by idiots. Family Ancestral Castle. Does that mean anything to you?'
"Er, I'm in someone's castle?"
The crimson orbs appeared to roll as the bird responded. 'Someone? Your own castle, you dimwit.'
"I … have a castle?"
'Do I need to spell it out?'
" A family castle?"
'Dear Merlin, help me!'
"My family were destitute, ignoble arseholes! They didn't have a castle!"
'Your … What?'
Glaring at the bird, Harry demanded. "How are you talking to me?"
'Because, I am a Magical Dark Phoenix.'
Harry stared blankly at the bird, before muttering. "I have the strangest dreams."
The bird squawked in protest. 'I am not a fiction of your imagination! Although, being introduced to the magical world could be shocking I suppose.'
"The Magical ...What now?"
'What has this family come to? You are magical, surely you know this! You have performed feats of magic, wilfully too I imagine since you exhausted your core! Thus, it stands to reason that there are other magical beings in the world, does it not?'
"Err ….. Uh … I guess?" Harry replied, his usual composure stripped of him by a combination of an ear splitting headache and the shock of what had just been told to him, but the bird was not yet finished.
'Marvellous! Now it stands to reason, that like any two different countries, two different worlds would have different customs?' And upon seeing Harry's hesitant nod, the Phoenix continued. 'Thus, since you are of Nobility, it stands to reason that you could have a castle! You are in Potter Castle.'
"But my parents…"
'Died to save you.' Aeolus stated, and upon seeing Harry's eyes widen in shock, Aeolus looked towards the heavens.
'Merlin help me, what did I do to receive this punishment?'
Alas for Harry, magical birds could be cruel taskmasters, especially when it came to teaching someone everything they had to know about a world.
The Dark Phoenix
Albus Dumbledore tiredly wiped the sweat from his brow.
'What a mess!'
Harry Potter had disappeared.
Not only that, but in doing so he had magically launched several muggle bullies intentionally across a muggle schoolyard, and as if that wasn't enough, he had been rescued by what appeared to be a phoenix.
It was a disaster.
Mass obviation had been required, and naturally Dumbledore had to do it himself in order to avoid bringing in magical law enforcement.
Obliviate every single person who knew about Harry Potter.
Dumbledore's expression was grim as he thought back on what he had seen before it had been removed from the minds of the muggles, most had been less than pleasant. Disgusting was an apt description.
More worrying than a tiring day of meaningless meandering through muggles, however, was Harry. The child seemed to be a magical prodigy, and knowing what Dumbledore knew that should have be impossible!
Yet the child had, wilfully, launched several children across the schoolground. Granted he had collapsed from magical exhaustion, but that shouldn't have been possible!
The boy was far too powerful, considering everything.
Sighing tiredly, Dumbledore popped another lemon drop into his mouth.
Then there was the bird.
It had to be a phoenix, but Dumbledore was unable to confirm his suspicions from the hazy memories he saw in the minds of the children.
Regardless, a phoenix!
The boy was altogether too much trouble.
Finding him was a given of course, the question was, how?
Scowling Dumbledore, tugged his beard thoughtfully.
Doing it himself was far too much work, and DMLE would create too much of a hassle and too many questions. Neither were viable, which meant …
'Ah!' Dumbledore realized as he popped several more lemon drops into his mouth.
The Order had to be gathered again.
Recommended Stories:
Honor Thy Blood by The Black's Resurgence
Stepping Back by The Black's Resurgence
Lost Eden by Jayme F. Midorikawa (Who does not actually write it, and for whom I help edit.)
Review!
Cheers,
TPR