Harry Potter and the Power of the White Phoenix: A Harry Potter Fan Fiction
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its associated characters: all rights belong to JK Rowling. I do not own any crossover references used in the story: all rights belong to their original creators. I do own any OC spells explained at the end of a chapter.
Plot: A nightmare comes true; a mysterious power is awoken; a friendship becomes something more; in the midst of all this, a hero rises from the ashes with a war he aims to win. However, he will do it on his own terms.
Author's Note: So, here's a blast from the past with some minor changes and reformatting that, hopefully, will allow me to continue the work from where inspiration and other obstacles stopped me before.
Anyway, enjoy and, as always, if you don't like it, then don't read it.
Recommended Reads: The Focus of a Healer by OfficeSloth, The Potter Alliance by SpitKill, The Legacy by storytellerSpW, Saviour of Magic by Colt01, When Harry Met Neville by SlutPuppy, The Journey Begins by JayColin and Harry Potter and the Rune Stone Path by Temporal Knight
Key Pairing: Harry/Neville
Other Pairings: To be determined
Normal Speech
'Thoughts'
'Mental Speech'
/Parseltongue/
Chapter 1: Black, White and Green
It might have been just one day away from the end of the school year, following the end of the Triwizard Tournament, but it was safe to say there was a definitive air of darkness, concern and worry within the walls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
While many felt the warring emotions of worry and concern because of how the Tournament had come to a close – most-notably, with the death of a student – an announcement that none of them, staff or students, wanted to hear ever again and a dark, foreboding feeling that caused a rift within Hogwarts due to what had been announced, there was one student who felt neither of the latter and, instead, felt only darkness inside him.
Fourteen-year-old Harry James Potter, who had been recently crowned the youngest Triwizard Champion in history, not to mention earning the added mantles of sole survivor of the madness and the cause of the rift in Hogwarts – though he didn't know it yet – stood alone in Gryffindor Tower, staring blankly out of the window from the fourth-year dormitory, his hands at his sides while his breathing was slow, calm and abnormally-silent for one who'd been through everything he had.
Around him, the fourth-year boys' dormitory lay still and empty, the only signs of occupancy coming from the packed trunks that belonged to Harry and his dorm-mates while Harry himself was alone, his blank expression and apathetically-calm demeanour adding to the darkness of the moment.
The respective parties from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang had already left – though not before suspicions only grew with the disappearance of Igor Karkaroff, and the shock that the Defence Professor was actually a fake and a Death Eater whom was supposed to be dead – and many of the students were getting ready to go home, but even while the tension in the air grew with the dark cloud that had come to Hogwarts, Harry didn't feel at peace, nor did he feel content with what he was feeling.
In fact, if anyone asked him, Harry would have said he felt dead inside because, with the admission of that feeling, it meant he didn't have to feel what he was really feeling in his mind, his spirit and the infamous Gryffindor fire that often burned in the heart of the saviour of the magical world.
As he stood there, watching the world pass by, Harry was aware of a presence entering the room that made him look up, but as soon as he did so, his expression turned as dark as the feelings he felt as he saw his Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, standing there, a look of sorrow and pity in his eyes as he saw his student.
For a moment, neither one of them said anything, but then, to Harry's disbelief, Dumbledore actually tried lightening the mood as he remarked, "I never liked these curtains: I set them on fire in my fourth year…by accident, of course."
Harry scoffed in response, barely managing a smile as Dumbledore, walking past the nearest bed, looked deep into his charge's eyes as he went on, a less-joking tone in his words as he said, "I've put you in terrible danger this year, Harry…and for that, I am sorry."
"No, you're not," scowled Harry, earning a troubled look from Dumbledore as he insisted, "You knew what was going on and, instead of doing something and living up to your reputation, you just sat back and let it happen anyway, like you always do!"
"Harry, I assure you…" Dumbledore began, but Harry cut him off with another scoff as he looked to Dumbledore.
"Don't deny it: once again, you were perfectly content offering me up like a piece of meat in this game of death when you could've challenged the verdict. You're the Chief Warlock for Merlin's sake, not to mention someone who could probably spot a fake and a Death Eater a mile away!"
"Yes," agreed Dumbledore, the sorrow obvious to Harry, not that he cared, as he explained, "You're right to question my abilities, Harry: I should have seen the threat from day one, but with everything that's happened…"
"No," argued Harry, cutting off Dumbledore while he shook his head as he said, "You don't get to do that, Headmaster: year in and year out, I've had to be this school's lifeline and now, when I needed their help, what happened? Half the school turned on me, the other half wanted me to die even though I was very specific about wanting to have absolutely nothing to do with this! And, on top of all that, you let that disguised Death Eater trick everyone by helping me. I mean, Krum had Karkaroff and Delacour had Maxime: why couldn't you offer some help for Cedric and I? If you had…if I'd been better prepared…"
"Mr Diggory would still be with us," finished Dumbledore, nodding sadly as he told Harry, "You are right, Harry: I should have done something. But I was blinded by fear and, therefore, I relied on what I thought was my dear friend Alastor's way with preparing others: he used to be the greatest mentor in the Auror Academy: he taught your Father, you know?"
"I don't care!" spat Harry.
As he did so, Dumbledore's eyes narrowed suspiciously as he saw something spark up in Harry's green eyes.
Something he hoped he wasn't seeing, but, at the same time, he saw something in Harry that, as the boy said, was due to his inaction.
Harry had really grown in the past year, matured in ways even Albus couldn't have foreseen and, as much as Dumbledore wanted to do what he could to protect his charge, he knew Harry was not going to accept that anymore.
However, if he had seen what he thought he'd seen, then it meant one thing for Harry Potter:
Trouble!
As he tried to keep his fears away from his thoughts, Dumbledore cleared his throat as he went on, "Dark and dangerous times lie ahead for one and all, Harry: you more than anyone. Now that events have been set in motion, I fear that your future may look darker before it gets lighter."
"Tell me something I don't know," scowled Harry, sinking onto his bed while he put his head in his hands as he gasped out, "He used my blood, Headmaster: my blood, which is the same blood as my Father, my Mother and allowed him to…to…to be able to…"
"Touch you without the power of your Mother's sacrifice causing him any harm," said Dumbledore, earning a sniff and a nod from Harry before the old man went on, "What you had was Old Magic, Harry; far more powerful, arcane and as big of a mystery, more than anything we teach here, but I can promise you that, no matter what, you will be safe. You more than anyone need to be ready for the future, especially now that Tom has targeted you and wishes to finish what he started."
While Harry let out a sigh of rage, disbelief and a hint of inevitability, he looked up at the Headmaster as he added, "There…there's something else, Professor: when…when he fought me, there was a moment, back in the graveyard where…where our magic seemed to connect: Voldemort's wand and…and my wand, they seemed to merge somehow and…"
"Priori Incantatem," whispered Dumbledore, awe in his words as he eyed Harry before he asked, "You saw your parents last night, didn't you?"
When Harry nodded again, Dumbledore's eyes narrowed as he told the boy, "No spell can reawaken the dead, Harry: I trust you know this, but if anything gives me the faith that I have always had in you and your abilities, it is this. And, as I said before, while dark and difficult times lie ahead, there will be a moment where, soon, we must decide between what is right and what is easy."
Harry rolled his eyes: why couldn't Dumbledore ever speak plainly about what he was trying to say?
Why did everything have to sound ominous, if not like a riddle within a riddle?
Unaware of Harry's thoughts, Dumbledore continued, "But remember this, always, Harry: you have friends here…you are not alone."
"You could have fooled me," whispered Harry, earning a thin smile from Dumbledore before he asked, "What am I supposed to do now, Professor?"
"I can't tell you that, Harry," replied Dumbledore, aware of a flash of rage filling Harry's green eyes before he added, "I can only give you the tools to try and do what you feel is right, but, for now, it is safer for you to be…well, I think you know where, don't you?"
Again, Harry scoffed before he rose up and, facing Dumbledore, he sneered, "If you'd been as helpful last year as you claim to be right now, I would never have to go back there again."
"Harry…"
"Just leave me alone, Headmaster," snarled Harry, turning away from Dumbledore as he returned his attention to the view from his window, "You're good at that much, at least."
Sadly, Dumbledore did exactly what Harry asked, but not before he sent a final, worrying look towards his young charge, his twinkling blue eyes filled with worry as he asked himself, "Did I really see that magic…in Harry? Or was it just a trick of the light?"
If Harry heard him, he didn't show any signs; instead, he kept his gaze on the window and let himself get lost in his broodings.
Dumbledore, meanwhile, made his way out of his office and headed straight for his office, his mind fixed on the image he thought he'd seen in Harry's eyes when the boy had faced him. If he had seen it, he needed to move quickly to help Harry prepare for what came next, even if it meant going as far as distancing himself from the boy to do it.
Anything was better than forcing Harry to endure the pains of that magic and losing himself in the process.
White
After his confrontation with the Headmaster, Harry's mood didn't improve much.
And, for once, it wasn't just because of how he couldn't seem to get a moment to himself with everyone glaring at him, stage-whispering about him when they thought he wasn't listening or, more-often than not, giving signs they wanted to question him about what had happened, but decided against it for one stupid reason or another.
No, there was also the fact that Harry still didn't have the answers or the explanations he'd hoped he would actually get for once in his life.
Like why had it taken the death of a student and the revelation of Tom's return for the old man to take an interest in Harry's wellbeing? Why were the Ministry of Morons being so stupid in denying what should have been bleeding obvious given the evidence of everything that had happened already over the past ten months?
Why had Harry suddenly become someone akin to Public Enemy Number One when he was apparently their big hero not too long ago?
And why…why in the name of Merlin wasn't anyone telling him more about everything that had happened in the graveyard?
Like how and why had this Priori Incantatem thing happened between him and Voldemort? Why had Tom sought his blood for the ritual?
How had he managed to call on magic to pierce the Veil between this world and the next and gained a brief reprieve in the form of some unknown magical protection thanks to the souls of his parents, the old caretaker of The Riddle House and Cedric? How had he spoken to them?
What wasn't he being told?
It was safe to say that, by the time the Hogwarts Express finally reached King's Cross Station and Harry was able to leave the magical world behind, even if only for a short while, he was still feeling pretty angry. Not to mention scared, confused and just a little bit annoyed with everything to do with the magical world at that moment.
He didn't even hear his friends as they'd talked on the journey back and he didn't acknowledge anyone's looks or questions as he vanished through the barrier between worlds and returned to the Muggle side of London.
In fact, it was nearly an hour after he'd left King's Cross with a disgruntled Uncle Vernon before Harry gave any sort of reactions at all.
Unfortunately for the Muggle, it wasn't the reaction of a calm, assured nephew.
White
As Uncle Vernon pulled his car into the driveway of Number Four, Privet Drive, Harry felt his seat jostle as they ran onto the driveway before, with a sharp jerk, his Uncle put his foot on the brakes and killed the engine.
Craning his neck as he tried not to show the usual discomfort he felt on such a journey, Harry climbed out of the car and made his way round to the boot as usual where, without needing to be asked, he retrieved his trunk and Hedwig's cage, said owl looking at her human sadly as he walked to the front door of the house.
However, once Harry was through the door, he was forced to acknowledge the fact he wasn't alone when Vernon demanded, "Right boy; go on. Put everything from that freak place in the cupboard and don't you dare try and get it out again until you have to go back to that madhouse."
Then, without any care for the fact that his nephew looked like he wasn't all there, positively-speaking, Vernon barged past Harry, knocking the boy to the floor, causing Hedwig's cage to roll out of Harry's hand in the process.
As Harry hit the floor from the impact, a low growl suddenly rose up in the teenager's throat before he winced as he felt pain shoot through his side from where he'd hit the floor.
The pain and the growl were almost like the ingredients of a wake-up call for Harry as he dragged himself to his feet before, glaring at Vernon's retreating form, the young wizard spat, "Watch where you're going, you fat Muggle bastard!"
Vernon, who'd been heading to the fridge for his usual twelve after-task cakes before dinner, stopped dead as he heard Harry address him with a tone of harshness, not to mention a word that was borderline-taboo in Privet Drive because the Dursleys wanted nothing to do with the magical world or their freakish nephew.
However, as had been made obvious for a while now, they didn't have much choice.
Still, the fact that Harry not only used the forbidden word and spoke like he thought he could cheek off the fat Muggle was like a red rag to a bull for Vernon as he rounded on Harry.
"What have we told you about using that word here, boy?"
"My name, Vernon, is Harry!" snapped Harry, his emerald-green eyes as hard as the stones they resembled while his voice radiated the rage he'd felt back in Gryffindor Tower as he hissed, "I take the time to learn your name, even though I couldn't give a flying fuck about you, you fat bastard: so do you think you could actually take the time to rub two brain cells together and remember my name? Or is that like asking a seal to drive a Ferrari, because it's impossible?"
Vernon's whole body spun on the spot, his eyes filled with rage while his face was turning a familiar shade of purple as he hissed, "You…you will apologise to me, now, you little freak, or…"
"Or what? I'm out?" asked Harry, scoffing as he explained, "That's fine, you filthy beast, because right now, I've got more important things to think about than worrying about Muggles who hurt, abuse, neglect and, oh yes, imprison me for years because they can't stand the fact that we actually have the misfortune of sharing DNA!"
"I'm warning you, boy…" snarled Vernon, his breathing turning heavy as he told Harry, "I…I am sparing you from getting what you deserve because you are her family, but if you keep pushing me, you will regret it…"
"Not before you do," hissed Harry, drawing his wand as though he was unsheathing a sword, much to Vernon's horror.
"Put it away!" exclaimed the Muggle, before he sneered as he added, "You…you know you can't do…that outside that madhouse."
"And you actually think that will stop me?" asked Harry, his hands trembling as he snarled, "It's never stopped me before: all that matters is filth like you are the only ones here. If any other Muggles were around when it happened, I'd be in trouble, but if it's just my poor excuse for a family in the house, then I think that's what they call a loophole."
Vernon's face was now the colour of ripe blackberries while, unseen by Harry, the green eyes of the young wizard shone like the Killing Curse, but as they did so, what looked like flecks of bright, white light shone in Harry's glare, like sparks of lightning that threatened to explode in a ferocious wave of thunderous energy.
Harry, however, was ignorant of the glow in his eyes as he raised his wand before he asked, "So, do you really want to test me, Vernon? Because trust me, right now, I couldn't care less what happens if it means I actually get to deal with one of the pains in my neck this summer. Of course, I could always leave and, in doing so, I leave you and yours to the mercy, and I use the term very loosely, of a certain Lord Voldemort!"
The colour drained from Vernon's face like water down a plughole: at the same time, Harry heard a door open upstairs before, to his amusement, Petunia finally showed her face, which was also white as she gasped.
"What…what do you…what are you doing? Get…get it out of sight now!"
"Gladly, Auntie, and I use the term loosely," said Harry, the sarcasm clear in his voice as he asked, "But first, would you like to explain why this fat freak of nature thinks I'll keep myself away from my possessions for another summer?"
"What?" asked Petunia, her eyes now looking to Vernon as she exclaimed, "Vernon, I told you to leave him alone: as long as he's here, we're going to be all right, but you have to leave him alone."
Now Harry paid attention!
While Vernon mumbled nonsensically under his breath, the emerald eyes of the young sorcerer looked to his Aunt before he asked her, "Why do you have to leave me alone this summer, Petunia?"
"Don't ask questions!"
"Oh no," argued Harry, shaking his head as he hissed, "No, you don't get to do that to me…not this time: no, I want to know everything! And, if I don't like it, trust me, you're going to make things worse, not that they aren't as bad as things can get with his return, but I digress…"
"We know he's back!" exclaimed Petunia, earning another curious look from Harry as he saw her tremble, as though fighting against her instinct to be her usual spiteful self towards her nephew and the fact that, just by looking at him, she could see he wasn't backing down.
However, as Petunia looked at Harry, her eyes widened as she saw the whitish tint that lit up in his eyes as he waited for explanations, his ire and his fury against everything he'd gone through causing some…she-knew-what to happen to him.
But, while he kept his eyes on her, he wasn't making any threats that, in this frame of mind, she knew he'd likely make good on.
After all, he was her son and she had quite the temper as a teenager and afterwards: why did they think she and Petunia really left on a bad note?
So, as Petunia looked at her nephew, she tried her best to weather the proverbial storm inside this clearly-pissed-off teenager as she told him, "Last night, a letter came to the house from…from that old coot that runs that place…"
"The Headmaster?" asked Harry, lowering his wand, but his hands were still trembling as he asked, "What…why…what would he want to speak to you for? You hate magic, Petunia Dursley, and you've both made it clear what you think of the old man, so why?"
"Petunia, no!" snapped Vernon, finding his voice despite the fact that he was still as pale as a ghost following Harry's exclamation about the return of Voldemort, "We swore not to tell him anything about that day; he mustn't know."
"You swore a lot of things, but they never came about, now shut it!" hissed Harry.
As he said it, Vernon opened his mouth to respond, but to his shock, his voice was silenced, leaving him unable to say a word.
As Petunia saw yet another example of something happening because Harry was angry or scared, she swallowed hard as she saw him look back to her before he asked, "Well? What's he talking about? What else haven't you told me, Petunia Dursley?"
Again, Petunia seemed to fight her instincts, but as she did so, she saw Harry's hands.
They were shaking with fury: his knuckles had turned so white with rage and barely-restrained emotions, it was like the bone had split through the flesh. Then there was his voice: yes, it was aggressive and would have set alarm bells ringing with any normal parents or guardians, but Petunia could hear the tremor, the pain and the note of repressed fear and rage that made Harry sound hurt and, for once, it wasn't because of the Muggles.
His world had hurt him and not only because of what Petunia knew thanks to the unnecessary communication with the old fool.
As she saw the look and heard the tone, Petunia swallowed hard before she told Harry, "If I tell you, you have to calm down and do exactly as I ask you to do because, if you lose control now…Harry…it will hurt you in ways far worse than you can imagine."
It hurt her to use the boy's name, but even she couldn't keep the concern out of her voice as she advised him about his rage.
Yes, even when she'd read the missive from the old coot, she knew the truth would hurt her nephew and that was why she'd advised her son and her husband to keep their distance from her nephew for the summer holidays.
Let him go wherever he wanted and do whatever he liked, as long as they agreed that he would come back at the end of the day and sleep in his room before repeating the cycle over the summer. She'd even let him have a decent-sized meal and give him the freedom to be a normal teenager.
Anything was better than having to deal with them lot because the boy was not there.
To her relief, the boy did appear to calm down as he kept his eyes on her before he asked in a calmer voice, "What haven't you been telling me?"
Licking her lips, despite the silent protests of her husband, Petunia beckoned as she told him, "Come upstairs and bring your…your things with you: we can talk in your room."
Tentatively, Harry followed his Aunt up the stairs, leaving Vernon to silently fume before he decided that it was on her head and, instead of trying to do the right thing for once, he chose to resume his desire of sneaking a portion, or twelve, of sweet treats from the fridge before it was locked away because the school Dudley went to lied about there being problems with his boy's weight.
You never deprived a growing boy of their food and that was what these expensive morons couldn't realise.
After all, Vernon had never been denied anything and he was perfectly-fine, thank you very much…
White
Upstairs, Harry set a disgruntled Hedwig on top of his drawers before he slid his trunk under his bed while Petunia, still struggling with her native desire to hide things from Harry, and her newfound worry for his mental and emotional state, watched him return to whatever passed for normal in the way he was every time he came home.
However, even when his things were stored away, Harry still kept an eye on his Aunt as he asked, "So?"
Taking a deep, shaking breath, Petunia swallowed hard as she told him, "Four…nearly fourteen years ago, on the night I found you on my doorstep, there was…a letter with you from…from that man…your Headmaster. It told me of my…of her death and that I was expected to take care of you for a while until…until you were ready, but it also revealed a reason why."
Harry's eyes flashed with rage once again, but Petunia didn't notice.
Neither did she notice the way that this flash seemed to cause Harry's hair to rise up in a static field that rippled with magical warning.
Although, what she did notice was the glow in her nephew's eyes as he listened to her.
"I thought we agreed you'd calm down," Petunia warned him, earning a scoff from Harry.
"You've just told me my lot told you to take care of me and there's a reason and you expect me not to react?" asked Harry hotly, his jaws clenched together in a way that would've reminded him of a certain Potions Master were he not so angry, "Great Merlin's ghost, Petunia, what is it going to take for you and your family to remember that I am a human being?"
As much as she wanted to chastise him for the way he said it, Petunia knew he was right: after all, he was a teenager and, judging by what she'd been told in the letter from the old buzzard, his rage wasn't going away anytime soon, which meant she had to be careful.
Yet, as she saw the rage, Petunia felt like she had felt when she'd read the first letter about her sister's death: a way she'd never told Vernon or anyone else about, but it was something she'd felt and this was the real reason she'd always tried her hardest to keep her nephew around and alive for as long as possible.
This was the real reason she'd hoped he wouldn't want to have anything to do with them and their lot and this was why, having seen the fire and the light that shone in his glare, Petunia chose to defy the old creep and give Harry what he wanted.
For once in her life, she was doing the right thing.
For her, her family – not that she'd ever admit it – and her nephew.
Taking a deep breath, Petunia continued as she explained, "According to the letter from the old coot, there was…there would be some sort of protection around this house that…that came because of the meagre ties I had to my sister; I think he called it blood wards or something, I didn't notice it, but he said it would keep you safe and, as long as you had a home here, the wards would not fall."
"What? Not even if a certain psycho used my blood to come back to life?" snarled Harry, earning a shake of the head from his aunt as he asked with genuine curiosity, "How's that possible?"
"I don't know, but I do know He has returned," replied Petunia, swallowing hard as she told Harry, "He sent another letter last night and…and it said we were to leave you be this summer. He said he knew how Vernon treated you and…and if you didn't go back in the same state of health as you usually did, if anything happened, he would see to it that we…that you were taken away."
"Which would make the wards fall," said Harry, a note of seething hate and disbelief in his words as he asked, "And you weren't going to tell me this why, Petunia? Why do you care how I feel anyway?"
"Because you are my blood," said Petunia, earning a scoff from Harry before she scolded him, "Don't you dare insult that, Harry Potter: you didn't just lose a Mother that night in Godric's Hollow. I also lost a sister! As much as I hated her and their world for taking her from me, the one thing I never wanted was for you to be taken because of them!"
"And yet you lied to me, made me believe my magic was freakish and, oh yes, you let Vernon put bars on my window, encouraged Marge to insult my family and allowed your sorry excuse for a son to treat me like a punchbag: tell me, why shouldn't I leave now?" asked Harry, his voice filled with the same air of dark warning that he'd had downstairs as he glared at his Aunt.
Petunia, however, shook her head and held up her hands as she told him, "If you want to go, then go: I know we've done nothing that could make you want to protect this house or our family. And I know how you must hate me and Vernon for what we have done to you, so if you'd rather leave us to the mercy of that monster, then go, but just know that if you do, then you'll be dead to me."
"You say that as if I haven't been that before," scoffed Harry, looking back to his Aunt as he asked, "Getting back to it: why did he contact you again? Why did he suggest you leave me be and let me have whatever is meant to pass for a normal summer holiday by myself?"
"He didn't say," replied Petunia, earning a suspicious look from Harry as she told him, "All that he said was that it was more important than ever that you are kept out of the loop this summer. He said he would try and help you understand when the time was right, but we were to keep you here for as long as we could while he tried to make things right, whatever that means."
"That senile, manipulative old bastard!" snapped Harry, his eyes glowing again, which made Petunia more worried as he asked, "First, he lets me walk into that nightmare of a gladiator game half-cocked and now he's keeping me in the dark because of what happened: why? What aren't they telling me? Why can't anyone ever tell me the truth instead of everything being nothing but one big Riddle?"
Again, Petunia's eyes widened, but this time, her look of shocked was edged by a gasp of surprise and disbelief as, when Harry finished his tirade, his last nerve snapped along with it.
Suddenly, the glow that rose up in Harry's eyes shone even brighter, but this time, it shone in the form of an aura of white energy that enveloped him, leaving him trembling, whimpering and even sobbing in a deranged, broken manner.
At the same time, Petunia's eyes widened as she heard a shriek from behind her.
Turning to the source, she saw Harry's owl, Hedwig, butting her head against the door, trying to break out of her cage.
Before she could demand that the beast quieten down, Harry's voice cut through Petunia's resistance as he roared;
"WHY DOES EVERYONE INSIST ON LYING TO ME UNTIL SOMEONE DIES BEFORE THEY GIVE ME THE TRUTH?"
Then, Petunia gasped as the white light that shone around her nephew blasted outwards: the bedcovers and the curtains blew about wildly as though caught in a hurricane while the door of both Harry's wardrobe and his bedroom buckled under the strain of his magic. The drawers rattled and shook while the female Muggle gasped as she felt a powerful force collide with her, but instead of harming her, it swept straight through her, leaving this ominous, almost-foreboding feeling clutching at her heart.
Again, Hedwig let out a shriek of alarm, but this time, Petunia's eyes widened as she heard a loud crashing sound, like metal being broken.
The next thing she knew, the woman saw a rush of white wings before she heard Harry's voice cry out again:
"NO MORE DEATH! NOT AGAIN: I WON'T WAIT FOR IT!"
The next thing she knew, Petunia saw the white wings collide with her nephew's body, causing the white energy that surrounded Harry to buckle and waver before, like a bomb going off, it exploded outwards, flooding the room in a force of concussive mystical energy that sent shockwaves ripping through every part of Harry's life.
And yet, when it hit Petunia, she gasped as, instead of pain or terror, she just felt this wave of calm and contentment wash over her before, daring to look at the source of the blast, her eyes widened as she saw her nephew.
But not the Harry who'd been standing there just a few moments ago before the white maelstrom had been unleashed on the world.
He was not that Harry James Potter…not anymore…and it wasn't the glow of raw power that filled his green eyes or the air of greater power that clung to him that told Petunia this much.
No, if there was anything that said that this wasn't the same Harry she once knew anymore, it was the sight of the beautiful white bird that was held in the arms of her nephew, its beak open in a song that could only make Petunia feel one thing.
A feeling as though she had just seen Harry being healed of every pain and fiery rage that ached at him.
Now, he was someone new, someone different and better; now, he was someone else…no, that was wrong.
Now, he was something else!
So, a really mysterious, but also dramatic start and it looks like the old fool has made the wrong choice again, but why has he made it?
What's he seen in Harry and what does it have to do with what's happening to Harry in Little Whinging?
Keep Reading to Find Out
Next Chapter: What is the bird with Harry? What happened to him? What is the Magic he seems to call out without meaning to? What is he going to do, now he knows people want him ignorant and out of the loop? All is revealed, but when he tries to find a way to share his worries, Harry finds his thoughts aimed at someone very different from the usual suspects;
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