Disclaimer: I am nothing but a worshipper of the great J.K. Rowling playing in her universe. Anything you recognize is not mine.

A/N: Updated 15-05-2005

DARK PHOENIX

Chapter 1: Breaking Perceptions

It was late afternoon in Surrey and Harry was in his room reading "A Guide to the Mind Arts". It was a gift his friend Hermione had sent him at the beginning of the summer holidays to help him learn Occlumency. He had actually finished reading the chapters on Occlumency and progressed to Legilimency. It wasn't long before Harry realised he was gifted in the mind arts and that Snape's horrendous teaching methods were the reason of his failure. He had started by practising on his relatives, and had easily managed to read them, but that hadn't been the best of experiences. He shuddered at the memory.

The book explained that while the Legilimens spell, an aggressive and powerful attack on the mind, could be traced, the art of Legilimency, a much more subtle inquisition, was undetectable save by a practised occlumens. Basically, that meant he could practise all he wanted with no worry from the ministry. He just wished he had someone more challenging than Dudley.

Harry had made it his mission to learn every bit of magic he could get his hands on, as well as adding a little physical training to the mix. If he was supposed to bring down the darkest wizard in a century, he might as well prepare himself. Legilimency was something both Voldemort and Dumbledore practised, so it certainly wasn't a waste of time. Besides, it did keep his mind off other things, like the loss of Sirius... and those ever-disturbing dreams...

The dreams were really baffling him. He was practising Occlumency before sleeping and he was certain his mind was well-shielded from outside influence, so the dreams weren't from Voldemort. Or at least, they shouldn't be. Even more unsettling was that the more he had them, the more he seemed to assimilate them, admitting to himself that yes, a part of him would enjoy torturing his relatives. In fact, what was the most disturbing was that they didn't disturb him anymore. Why was he getting used to them?

No answers seemed to be forthcoming so Harry pushed those thoughts away and returned to his reading.

DPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDP

After his daily run around the neighbourhood, Harry opened the front door of number four, Privet Drive to find his uncle in a towering mood. His face was a vivid shade of purple and he was ranting madly, not a good sign at all. Seeing his favourite means of venting frustration arrive, Vernon marched towards Harry.

The instant Harry locked eyes with him he knew what had put his uncle in a murdering state. One of the newest employees of the drilling company had been promoted and had taken the position Vernon had been pursuing.

Not wanting to be used as a punching bag again, Harry tried to dodge him and slip up the stairs. Unfortunately, that didn't work.

"BOY! Where do you think your going?" bellowed Vernon,

Harry froze in the hall, his uncle stomping towards him. Harry stared at him straight in the eye and felt something in him break. He wasn't going to back down. Not this time. He was tired of being the scapegoat, tired of being weak, tired of trying to be what others wanted him to be. He had had enough of being treated like a child who couldn't do anything right. From now on he was going to stand up for himself and make his own decisions, Voldemort and Dumbledore be damned, and especially, Vernon Dursley be damned.

"Answer the damn question, you freak!" Vernon said, spitting on Harry as he did so.

Harry had actually grown taller than his uncle, a fact which surprised him and strengthened his resolve. Their eyes were locked and it wasn't very hard for Harry to know exactly who had caused this temper. He looked at Vernon defiantly:

"Shut up, Dursley. It isn't my fault if Karl Mathews is more qualified for vice-president than you are." Vernon was clearly taken aback.

"What... how... you dare... speak..." Too enraged to speak coherently, he gave up and brought his hand up aiming to backhand Harry across the face.

Reflexively, Harry brought up his hand to protect himself. He felt his whole arm becoming hot half a second before his forearm made contact with his uncle's with a loud crunching noise. There was silence for a moment, and then Vernon howled in pain.

Harry looked at his arm. There was a slight pain, and he probably would have a bruise, but Vernon's thick bones were clearly snapped in two.

Petunia's screams joined her husband's while Dudley stared stupidly. Harry just stayed there, trying to figure out how in the world he, runty underfed Harry Potter, had managed to break his beefy uncle's arm.

At last, Petunia gathered her wits enough to call an ambulance. Fifteen minutes later, Harry was alone in the house, his relatives all gone to the hospital. At that moment, Harry realised he did not feel guilty about breaking his uncle's bones at all. In fact, if he was totally honest with himself, he had to admit he had enjoyed it...

...Just like in his dreams. But this wasn't a dream, this was real. Why didn't he feel just a bit guilty? This wasn't like him. Then again, this was only an arm, nothing like what he dreamed about. It wasn't torture, it was self-defence. And Harry had a right to enjoy giving his uncle pain after all he had gone through because of him.

If only he had known what a little running around could do, he would have started long ago. And if this little exercise could do this much difference, Harry was definitely going to take his training up a notch or two...

Watch out, people, Harry thought, you are now dealing with a whole new Harry Potter. And he's ready to kick ass.