Summary: A tale told from three points of view. Join four people as they search for the greater evil and fight to conquer it, encountering love, sex, murder, revenge, betrayal, the quest for domination, and the search for a place in the sun along the way as they brace themselves for their baptism of fire.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and anything related to it, nor are whatever things that you know (and have heard) of that you may encounter in the succeeding chapters mine.

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Baptism of Fire by Etienne

Chapter one: Only 17

            In his upstairs bedroom, in Number Four Privet Drive, Harry Potter, a highly unusual boy checked his wristwatch: one a.m. He bolted upright in his bed; he hadn't realized he'd turned 17 an hour ago. His stomach gave a slight lurch as he walked towards his window and peered at the figures approaching him, silhouetted against the moon. He stepped back to let a snowy female (his own, Hedwig), one grey tennis ball-sized, and one large brown barn owl inside.

            "Well, what do you know-," breathed Harry, a smile forming on his lips as he freed the smallest owl of its burden.

            Harry went over to his bed, untied the package on the minute owl's legs, and glimpsed his best friend, Ron's, untidy scrawl.

            Ron Weasley, a tall and well built young man with vivid red hair, and Hermione Granger, a clever, slender girl with bushy brown hair, were Harry's two best friends, who happened to also be a wizard and a witch. All three of them attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and were starting their seventh and final year in a week.

            Harry lived with his Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Cousin Dudley. The Dursleys were Harry's only living relatives, who happened to be, much to Harry's misfortune and chagrin, muggles (non-magic people). They took him in when he was a year old, when his parents (a clever and powerful witch and wizard) were killed by the most powerful Dark wizard of that time, Lord Voldemort.

            When Voldemort turned to perform the killing curse on Harry, it rebounded on him. Voldemort fled, powerless and barely alive, while little Harry escaped with little but a lightning bolt-shaped cut on his forehead, and instant fame.

            Harry ripped open the brown paper on Ron's package, unwrapped a present in scarlet and gold and found a letter and card inside:

      Dear Harry,

How are the muggles? Hope they aren't giving you much of a bad time. Listen, mate, I know you've heard this loads of times already, but, I'm really still sorry about what happened to Sirius. Merlin knows, Harry, no one deserves to have a good family more than you.

            Sirius was Harry's wizard godfather who was believed to be a convicted killer who escaped from Azkaban, the wizarding world's Alcatraz, until he died towards the end of Harry's fifth year, his name unredeemed.

                        Anyways, Happy Birthday! Here's something I picked up from Fred & George's Chamber of Trinkets. I hope you like it! Hold on, I    KNOW you'll like   it!

          Come visit with us soon, Hermione's arrived here last week!

     From,

     Ron

            Harry grinned, Hermione and Ron were his best friends, and he knew that no one deserved happiness more than they did, and he was glad they found it in each other.

He grinned wider when he picked up Ron's present: a golden snitch which flashed Draco Malfoy's face when he touched it.

"Damn it, Potter! Why do you have to be so good at Quidditch?" whined the little Malfoy, scowling up at him.

Nothing would cheer Harry up more than wiping the smug look off the face of Draco Malfoy, his arch nemesis, by beating him at Quidditch, which was in Harry's opinion, the best sport in the world.

Played on broomsticks, Quidditch was highly exciting, highly dangerous. Six hoops high above the ground, Quidditch was a bit like football and basketball, only with fourteen players and four balls-two bludgers, one Quaffle, a Golden Snitch. Three Chasers passed around the Quaffle, avoiding bludgers sent to them by Beaters, and tried to put it through the hoops. The Snitch, a tiny walnut-sized ball with wings, was extremely fast and hard to find, as it never stayed put in one place; its capture, which earned an extra hundred and fifty points, was the Seeker's difficult task. Harry was the youngest player picked for a house team in over a century, and he played Seeker and was now captain of the Gryffindor team.

Hogwarts had four houses, one from each of the four founders-Godric Gryffindor Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Salazar Slytherin. Harry, Hermione, and all of the Weasleys (most of which have graduated) were sorted into Gryffindor. Malfoy, however, was a different case; he was in Slytherin, which turned out more bad wizards than any of the other 3 houses.

            Harry turned to Hedwig and found that she had brought him a present from Hermione, along with a birthday card and letter, too, in Hermione's neat handwriting:

            Dear Harry,

                        Happy Birthday! How are the muggles? I do hope they're treating you all right.

                        I suppose Ron's told you that I'm staying at The Burrow. Honestly, I don't know how to break it off with him, ('break it off?' mouthed Harry, his eyebrows reaching his fringe) he's such a dear, sweet friend, I'm just afraid I'll end up hurting him. You know how           Ron is, he'll scream bloody murder!

            Harry grinned at this, shaking his head slightly before continuing:

                        Anyway, I got you something; I hope it's not too much.

                        We're going to Diagon Alley sometime this week to get some school things, any chance of meeting you there?

                        See if you could visit with us! Don't let the muggles get you down!

            Love,

            Hermione

            Harry picked up Hermione's present, expecting another study planner of some sort, but uncovered instead a sleek black pipe-like tube about six inches long, looking much like a baton. Puzzled, Harry twirled the tube around in his hands. Hermione wouldn't give him anything useless, that was for sure, he just didn't know what she'd sent him this time. Yet.

            Just as he was about to put the pipe away for more studying later, a slip of parchment fell out from the box:

The Darkcloud X250®

The revolution in racing brooms

The Darkcloud X250® is a sleek, compact broom engineered for fastest speed and pin-point precision all compressed in a six inch tube. Its handle honed from a superb combination of high polish rosewood, oak and acacia; its tail from Birchwood, willow and mahogany, the Darkcloud X250® provides maximum performance hand-in-hand with sleekness, style, prestige and comfort.

The Darkcloud X250®: Ball-busting free! ™

How to operate:

Each Darkcloud X250® broom is charmed to respond and conform to the owner. To test drive, hold the broom tube in your wand hand, extend outwards. The broom recognizes palm and finger prints, thus providing maximum security and performance.

Caution: This is a racing broom which responds to the slightest touch; thus, allow ample roaming and roving space for use.

What the Pros have got to say:

"The team switched to Darkcloud X250s, an' they're talkin' 'bout getting it for the World Cup. Yeh know, like an official broom or summat."- Aidan Connolly (Beater, Irish National Team)

"Yer know 'bout derr slogan? Vell, it really is ball-busting free! I haf never come home from practice all sore in the you-kno-vat since I svitched to the Darkcloud X250. No that I have balls, that is."- Yulya Ivanova (Chaser, Bulgarian National Team)

"What d'you mean what do I think of the Darkcloud? It's bloody brilliant, that's what! It's the best bloody thing since self-laundering knickers!"- Artemis McKelvie, (Chief Quidd, World Quidditch Federation; Supreme Referee, Int'l Quidditch Association; Honorary member, Quidditch Fiends Society of Greater Britain)

©Worldwide racing Broom Corporation

London-Paris-Rome-New York-Milan-Hong Kong-Cincinnati-Manila-Singapore-Kuala Lumpur-Oslo-Hogsmeade-Seoul-Havana

            Another sheaf of parchment bore instructions on how to program another user for the broom. He put that aside, for the time he would let Ron have a go on his new broom, and thinking maybe he'd give Ron his old Firebolt as an early Christmas or birthday present.

            Harry let out a low whistle. "All right, Hermione," he grinned as he stretched out his right hand with the pipe in it.

            WHOOSH.

            A soft buzzing noise was heard when the tube expanded on both ends, not unlike a light saber, humming softly as it rolled off of Harry's hand onto the space next to him, suspended in mid-air, exactly at Harry's mounting height.

            Harry traced the now expanded sleek black body trimmed in silver and blood-red, from the handle down to the streamlined tail twigs, with bated breath and awe.

            He peered yet closer to the handle end of the broom, and sure enough, saw tiny, discreet silver letters forming: Darkcloud X250® and a serial number.

            Sighing and regretting that he couldn't take it for a test drive yet, Harry stretched out his arm again and the broom compressed into the six inch tube once more.

            After carefully putting away his treasured new broom, Harry walked over to the third and last owl. He knew at once who this owl came from, as it puffed out its chest in a very important way, and its package bore Hagrid's (the Hogwarts Gamekeeper and Care of Magical Creatures teacher) handwriting and the Hogwarts crest.

            Hagrid had sent him yet another birthday card and a big birthday cake (bought, not homemade, thankfully), and some home made rock cakes (Harry put these away, in case he ever got that desperate).

            He read:

            Harry,

            How're you? Are the Muggles treatin' you right? Well, have a Happy Birthday,             Harry!  I wish Sirius was here, you know, he an' your dad would have been mighty proud.

            See you September 1st!

            Hagrid

            Inside, however, was another letter, this time, though, in brilliant green ink. It was Harry's supplies list for the coming term. He put this aside, for when he would visit with Ron and Hermione.

            Savoring the bliss that he felt, Harry succumbed to sleep, still thinking about broomsticks, snitches and birthday cake.

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            Harry awoke to the sound of Uncle Vernon shouting and banging on his door.

            "Wake up, boy! The day's wasting away while you lie there on your sorry bum! Eat your breakfast and go to work!" Uncle Vernon ground out.

            Harry sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes. He reached for his glasses from his bedside table and put them on.

            Though some of Harry's "friends" warned the Dursleys not to harm or mistreat Harry in any way, the Dursleys have remained as grumbly as ever towards him.

            Grumbling, he grabbed the first shirt he found in his drawers, shoving his arms through the sleeves of a too large green shirt, then tucked it into his baggy jeans-both courtesy of Dudley, as Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon constantly reminded him.

             Harry trudged out of his room and down the stairs, following the scent of frying bacon and eggs and blueberry pancakes and waffles with maple syrup to the kitchen.

            As usual, the Dursleys completely ignored him as he sat at his usual place at the table. Uncle Vernon had his nose buried in a muggle newspaper; Dudley was munching on his carrot sticks while eyeing Harry's plate of bacon, eggs and pancakes which Aunt Petunia shoved in front of him. The Smeltings school nurse had provided him with a diet which they had followed meticulously since Harry's third year, even more after Dudley started taking a particular fancy (and not to mention training) for boxing. This year, though, Uncle Vernon demanded that only Dudley follow the diet, claiming that he was full of it, and that he couldn't spend another day eating "rabbit food."

            It was a rare and precious moment when Harry had the upper hand on Dudley (being that Dudley was roughly the size of a baby whale, only, he had muscles to show over his fat, and that underage wizards or witches weren't allowed to use magic outside of school), and, it being his birthday and all, he seized the opportunity at once.

            Harry slowly sliced a huge chunk of his pancake and swirled it slowly in maple syrup until it was all drenched up, and brought it to his mouth. Chewing as slowly as he could without actually sinking into a stupor, he finally licked the excess sticky maple syrup off of his lips before repeating the same torturous process with his eggs and bacon. By now, Dudley's eyes were watering and Harry was sure that drool was escaping out of the corner of his slightly open mouth. Harry sniggered to himself, thinking, "I really should stop, I'm making Dudley very unhappy. What the heck, it's my birthday!"