Chapter One: Scars and Stationary
At #4, Privet Drive, a young boy fiddled with his wand as he rested his head on the pillow of his bed. The time was 11:58pm, July 30th. Two whole minutes before he turned 15 years of age. A pale hand ran through black tresses, tracing over his lightning bolt of a scar. It was now 11:59pm.
This boy's name was Harry Potter, and he happened to be one of the most famous wizards of all time.
Twelve years ago, Harry had been left on the front doorstep of Vernon and Petunia Dursley, his only Aunt and Uncle, by three important wizards. Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, and Rubeus Hagrid. His parents had died in a brutal massacre done none other than the Dark Wizard Lord Voldemort. His relatives, reluctantly took him in, and have treated him like dirt ever since.
There was something also peculiar about Harry that explained why his relatives had never wanted him showcased to anyone but them. Harry beheld a strange scar on his forehead that was shaped oddly like a lightning bolt. He had received this scar the night his parents were killed. When Voldemort had finished the both of them, he set onto Harry, but failed. The curse backfired and hit Voldemort instead. In a way, Harry had "defeated" Lord Voldemort, because he was never seen again, and became widely known throughout the wizarding world.
Eight years later, Harry received a letter inviting him to a place he never thought possible. A letter that invited him to Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry, had no idea that his parents had been a witch and wizard of course, but had longed for a place like this ever since he had been dropped on that doorstep. His Aunt and Uncle had tried to keep it away from him ever since he had been left with him, but it was no use. With Rubeus Hagrid's help, Harry escaped from the awful "muggles", non- magic folk, and proceeded to begin his training as a young wizard.
It wasn't until only last year that Voldemort had returned, almost finishing Harry off, while killing one other. But luckily, for Harry, he squeezed through yet again. But to this day, Voldemort was still alive, with a full working body. Loathing for the death of one, Harry Potter.
--------------------
Two blocks away, a 14 year old girl sat stiffly in bed, peering over the text that dawned a certain midi evil history book. The page was opened to the one on Renaissance witches and wizards, as this was the only topic that had ever interested her. All the lights were out, and she was using a flashlight to scan the yellowed pages. Her walls dawned shelves packed with every single book ever written on anything supernatural, from Banshees to Leprechauns; Spells to Broomsticks. Her parents, of course, did not think any of this was right, but they let her research this anyway, because it made her the happiest person in the world when she was at one with her books.
--------------------
It was now 12:00pm.
Dudley snorted in the next room. Harry's watch lit up and beeped softly, sounding the turn of another year gone by. July 31st, the day he would get his letter from Hogwarts. The day nothing else seemed to bother him.. not even Dudley. His scar didn't even hurt the slightest bit.
--------------------
12:00pm. The digital clock on her nightstand suddenly read. She had been reading for nearly two hours, on the same chapter.. over and over again. She realized that it was time to get to bed. She set her things back on the shelf, and nestled into the covers, staring at the ceiling, getting ready for another day of taunting and teasing she would have to face at school in less than 6 hours. Her mind drifted into thoughts of voices shouting: "Hey, Anya, is that your wand?" and "Where's your owl, Anya? Isn't she supposed to be sending your letter?"
It was quite strange that she'd had all of those dreams... In some, she had been sailing across a black lake in a boat, looking up at a gleaming castle. In others, she had been eating breakfast in an enormous ballroom, sitting at one of four tables. Then suddenly, a huge swarm of owls would come fluttering in, dropping letters at various people. In the other ones, she would be performing magic with a wooden wand. She even remembered the spells of which she had said, but dared not to try them, not knowing what would happen if she did.
--------------------
"Happy Birthday, Harry.", he whispered to himself. Dudley snorted again. Harry set his wand on the nightstand, and turned off his light. He glanced in the direction of his trunk, then to Hedwig, who slept silently with her head under her wing. He slowly set his head on his pillow and went into a deep sleep.
--------------------
Two blocks away, a man and his son stood outside #9, Homebury Lane. Both had blonde tresses with bangs that swept over their grey eyes. A negative vibe was felt everywhere they looked, touched, or simply thought about. They both dawned black robes, with hoods that were pulled up over their heads, making it hard to recognize who they were.
"Dad, why can't we just kill him now and get it over with? Why does he want to wait so long?", the young boy asked.
"Don't ask questions, Draco. The Dark Lord sent us here for a reason, and I'm sure this won't go to waste.", the older man snapped back. There was a hint of fear within his murderous voice.
"But won't you become weak after you do this? You might lose some of your magic... you might become a.. squib! Look where that will get me--"
"Silence, Draco. It's for the Dark Lord.," the man now had a twisted look of hatred and fury upon his face, most likely towards his son for asking too many questions. But mostly it was fear of becoming a squib, a pureblood wizards who couldn't do any magic.
Draco stood very still, heeding his father's command, and looked to the window of Anya's bedroom.
"So when do we carry out the mission?", Draco asked impatiently, but was answered when a small popping noise came from behind them. Then followed by a hissing, scratchy voice.
"I expect everything is in order, Lucius?", The figure approached the older man, and stood still by his side. He, too, wore a long black cloak that swept the ground as he walked. His hood was also pulled up over his face, making the interior very dark. The only thing that was different from the other two uniforms was a small embroidery on his left side, of which shown a skull with a snake slithering out of it's mouth. This was known to wizards as "The Dark Mark" and only one wizard was worthy enough to wear it. Lord Voldemort.
"Yes, my Lord." Lucius replied. "The girl is sleeping, as are her parents. Shall we begin?", he asked.
"In a moment. I am most pleased with you, Lucius.", and with that, he smiled and placed his right index finger to his right temple.
--------------------
12:10am. Harry suddenly awoke, his scar hurting more extremely than ever before. It surely must've been splitting in half, judging from the pain. But when a hand was placed to his forehead and removed, dripping with sweat, it was all in one piece. He dared not to scream, but couldn't help but give a faint cry.
--------------------
Voldemort removed his index finger from his head slowly and exhaled.
--------------------
The pain extinguished, and Harry blinked, staring up at the ceiling. The last time this had happened, Voldemort had been plotting murder, or he had been very near. Was it possible that he was here? On Privet Drive? Or somewhere close? Harry knew that Dumbledore had put an incantation on the Dursley house; no one could touch him there.
But this was all still very odd. Harry glanced over at Hedwig, who was still asleep, as if nothing had happened. He could hear Uncle Vernon snoring on his right side, and Dudley snorting on his left. Thank God he hadn't woke them up, or he would probably be banished to his room forever. But that wouldn't be so bad, as he could always rely on the Weasley twins to get him out.
The Weasley's were a wizarding family that Harry had met his first day at Hogwarts. Ron, was one of his best friends, aside from Hermione, his other. Fred and George were both twins, and the pranksters of the lot, who wanted to open up a wizarding joke shop. Ginny was the youngest, and her first year, was actually a bit infatuated with Harry. Bill and Charlie were the older brothers, and had both finished their wizarding education at Hogwarts. Molly and Arthur Weasley were the parents, and treated Harry like one of their own.
Harry reached to the nightstand and grasped his wand in his hand. He knew it wouldn't do him much good against Voldemort, but he somehow, felt a little safer with it nearby. He looked to his parchment and quills that lay on the desk in front of him. He considered writing a letter to Sirius, his godfather, who was an escapee from the wizard prison, Azkaban. But he dropped the idea when he remembered that he was on the run, and didn't have time to listen to Harry complain about something that was probably nothing.
Harry, however, reminded himself that last time his scar had hurt like this, Voldemort was plotting a vicious plan to murder him. Nonetheless, not wanting to bother Sirius, he wrote his letter to a different person. That person happened to be Albus Dumbledore.
In scrawny handwriting the letter read:
Mr. Dumbledore,
I know this might sound a little odd, but my instinct tells me to write about it to you. I awoke about fifteen minutes ago. My scar hurt like it's never hurt before. I know last time this happened, Voldemort was planning something awful, so I thought I'd tell you, just in case that topic of conversation came up. Thanks for taking the time out of your schedule to read this.
Awaiting your reply,
Harry Potter
A/N: What do you guys think? Did I do okay for my very first story published on here? I remind you, the second chapter will only be put up if I receive a total of 5 reviews. I know that's a little amount, but I'm starting out small because I know that not a lot of people even know this story exists yet! I hope to continue on, though.. I really like where this story is going to end up! Please R&R!
- Lilly
At #4, Privet Drive, a young boy fiddled with his wand as he rested his head on the pillow of his bed. The time was 11:58pm, July 30th. Two whole minutes before he turned 15 years of age. A pale hand ran through black tresses, tracing over his lightning bolt of a scar. It was now 11:59pm.
This boy's name was Harry Potter, and he happened to be one of the most famous wizards of all time.
Twelve years ago, Harry had been left on the front doorstep of Vernon and Petunia Dursley, his only Aunt and Uncle, by three important wizards. Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, and Rubeus Hagrid. His parents had died in a brutal massacre done none other than the Dark Wizard Lord Voldemort. His relatives, reluctantly took him in, and have treated him like dirt ever since.
There was something also peculiar about Harry that explained why his relatives had never wanted him showcased to anyone but them. Harry beheld a strange scar on his forehead that was shaped oddly like a lightning bolt. He had received this scar the night his parents were killed. When Voldemort had finished the both of them, he set onto Harry, but failed. The curse backfired and hit Voldemort instead. In a way, Harry had "defeated" Lord Voldemort, because he was never seen again, and became widely known throughout the wizarding world.
Eight years later, Harry received a letter inviting him to a place he never thought possible. A letter that invited him to Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry, had no idea that his parents had been a witch and wizard of course, but had longed for a place like this ever since he had been dropped on that doorstep. His Aunt and Uncle had tried to keep it away from him ever since he had been left with him, but it was no use. With Rubeus Hagrid's help, Harry escaped from the awful "muggles", non- magic folk, and proceeded to begin his training as a young wizard.
It wasn't until only last year that Voldemort had returned, almost finishing Harry off, while killing one other. But luckily, for Harry, he squeezed through yet again. But to this day, Voldemort was still alive, with a full working body. Loathing for the death of one, Harry Potter.
--------------------
Two blocks away, a 14 year old girl sat stiffly in bed, peering over the text that dawned a certain midi evil history book. The page was opened to the one on Renaissance witches and wizards, as this was the only topic that had ever interested her. All the lights were out, and she was using a flashlight to scan the yellowed pages. Her walls dawned shelves packed with every single book ever written on anything supernatural, from Banshees to Leprechauns; Spells to Broomsticks. Her parents, of course, did not think any of this was right, but they let her research this anyway, because it made her the happiest person in the world when she was at one with her books.
--------------------
It was now 12:00pm.
Dudley snorted in the next room. Harry's watch lit up and beeped softly, sounding the turn of another year gone by. July 31st, the day he would get his letter from Hogwarts. The day nothing else seemed to bother him.. not even Dudley. His scar didn't even hurt the slightest bit.
--------------------
12:00pm. The digital clock on her nightstand suddenly read. She had been reading for nearly two hours, on the same chapter.. over and over again. She realized that it was time to get to bed. She set her things back on the shelf, and nestled into the covers, staring at the ceiling, getting ready for another day of taunting and teasing she would have to face at school in less than 6 hours. Her mind drifted into thoughts of voices shouting: "Hey, Anya, is that your wand?" and "Where's your owl, Anya? Isn't she supposed to be sending your letter?"
It was quite strange that she'd had all of those dreams... In some, she had been sailing across a black lake in a boat, looking up at a gleaming castle. In others, she had been eating breakfast in an enormous ballroom, sitting at one of four tables. Then suddenly, a huge swarm of owls would come fluttering in, dropping letters at various people. In the other ones, she would be performing magic with a wooden wand. She even remembered the spells of which she had said, but dared not to try them, not knowing what would happen if she did.
--------------------
"Happy Birthday, Harry.", he whispered to himself. Dudley snorted again. Harry set his wand on the nightstand, and turned off his light. He glanced in the direction of his trunk, then to Hedwig, who slept silently with her head under her wing. He slowly set his head on his pillow and went into a deep sleep.
--------------------
Two blocks away, a man and his son stood outside #9, Homebury Lane. Both had blonde tresses with bangs that swept over their grey eyes. A negative vibe was felt everywhere they looked, touched, or simply thought about. They both dawned black robes, with hoods that were pulled up over their heads, making it hard to recognize who they were.
"Dad, why can't we just kill him now and get it over with? Why does he want to wait so long?", the young boy asked.
"Don't ask questions, Draco. The Dark Lord sent us here for a reason, and I'm sure this won't go to waste.", the older man snapped back. There was a hint of fear within his murderous voice.
"But won't you become weak after you do this? You might lose some of your magic... you might become a.. squib! Look where that will get me--"
"Silence, Draco. It's for the Dark Lord.," the man now had a twisted look of hatred and fury upon his face, most likely towards his son for asking too many questions. But mostly it was fear of becoming a squib, a pureblood wizards who couldn't do any magic.
Draco stood very still, heeding his father's command, and looked to the window of Anya's bedroom.
"So when do we carry out the mission?", Draco asked impatiently, but was answered when a small popping noise came from behind them. Then followed by a hissing, scratchy voice.
"I expect everything is in order, Lucius?", The figure approached the older man, and stood still by his side. He, too, wore a long black cloak that swept the ground as he walked. His hood was also pulled up over his face, making the interior very dark. The only thing that was different from the other two uniforms was a small embroidery on his left side, of which shown a skull with a snake slithering out of it's mouth. This was known to wizards as "The Dark Mark" and only one wizard was worthy enough to wear it. Lord Voldemort.
"Yes, my Lord." Lucius replied. "The girl is sleeping, as are her parents. Shall we begin?", he asked.
"In a moment. I am most pleased with you, Lucius.", and with that, he smiled and placed his right index finger to his right temple.
--------------------
12:10am. Harry suddenly awoke, his scar hurting more extremely than ever before. It surely must've been splitting in half, judging from the pain. But when a hand was placed to his forehead and removed, dripping with sweat, it was all in one piece. He dared not to scream, but couldn't help but give a faint cry.
--------------------
Voldemort removed his index finger from his head slowly and exhaled.
--------------------
The pain extinguished, and Harry blinked, staring up at the ceiling. The last time this had happened, Voldemort had been plotting murder, or he had been very near. Was it possible that he was here? On Privet Drive? Or somewhere close? Harry knew that Dumbledore had put an incantation on the Dursley house; no one could touch him there.
But this was all still very odd. Harry glanced over at Hedwig, who was still asleep, as if nothing had happened. He could hear Uncle Vernon snoring on his right side, and Dudley snorting on his left. Thank God he hadn't woke them up, or he would probably be banished to his room forever. But that wouldn't be so bad, as he could always rely on the Weasley twins to get him out.
The Weasley's were a wizarding family that Harry had met his first day at Hogwarts. Ron, was one of his best friends, aside from Hermione, his other. Fred and George were both twins, and the pranksters of the lot, who wanted to open up a wizarding joke shop. Ginny was the youngest, and her first year, was actually a bit infatuated with Harry. Bill and Charlie were the older brothers, and had both finished their wizarding education at Hogwarts. Molly and Arthur Weasley were the parents, and treated Harry like one of their own.
Harry reached to the nightstand and grasped his wand in his hand. He knew it wouldn't do him much good against Voldemort, but he somehow, felt a little safer with it nearby. He looked to his parchment and quills that lay on the desk in front of him. He considered writing a letter to Sirius, his godfather, who was an escapee from the wizard prison, Azkaban. But he dropped the idea when he remembered that he was on the run, and didn't have time to listen to Harry complain about something that was probably nothing.
Harry, however, reminded himself that last time his scar had hurt like this, Voldemort was plotting a vicious plan to murder him. Nonetheless, not wanting to bother Sirius, he wrote his letter to a different person. That person happened to be Albus Dumbledore.
In scrawny handwriting the letter read:
Mr. Dumbledore,
I know this might sound a little odd, but my instinct tells me to write about it to you. I awoke about fifteen minutes ago. My scar hurt like it's never hurt before. I know last time this happened, Voldemort was planning something awful, so I thought I'd tell you, just in case that topic of conversation came up. Thanks for taking the time out of your schedule to read this.
Awaiting your reply,
Harry Potter
A/N: What do you guys think? Did I do okay for my very first story published on here? I remind you, the second chapter will only be put up if I receive a total of 5 reviews. I know that's a little amount, but I'm starting out small because I know that not a lot of people even know this story exists yet! I hope to continue on, though.. I really like where this story is going to end up! Please R&R!
- Lilly