I have started again on a Harry Potter fanfiction (different plot this time), which has been more thoroughly revised. Unlike my original ideas for my first story, this story will actually make sense (lol.) Plus as a writer I have come on a long way since my first Harry Potter story (which never went very far.) But now I can guarantee that this will not be left abandoned. I'm going to make a full go of this. I'm actually quite excited! So, if you will, please read this chapter and tell me what you think. Oh, and obviously, I don't own Harry Potter, if I did, I'd be living it up in the tropics writing sellable stories, not writing fanfiction, neh?

(I've added some bits from my chapters of my first story to this because I liked them (:)

Chapter 1

There was an undeniable mist hanging in the air that morning. The early hours blossomed with a golden sunrise that cast a sleepy glow over the hazy ground. The very earth adopted an expensive shimmer as the sun brightly glowed fresh rays over the neatly cut lawns and flamboyant flowerbeds of Privet Drive. However, inside the back bedroom of number four, lay the first conscious being of the entire group of houses. Harry Potter had been laid awake for the past half an hour, and yet he still resolutely lay there upon his back. His eyes stared up at the ceiling fixatedly, and his expression showed that he clearly didn't share nature's enthusiasm for another day. What made Harry so despondent was the fact that a few months ago, Sirius Black, godfather and firm friend of Harry, fell to his death during a battle with the horrific dark wizard, Lord Voldemort. The name, which still struck fear into many wizards and witches to this day, even after his years of absence. But now, Voldemort had returned, and it was only now that the Ministry believed it, especially with Cornelius Fudge out of the leading seat.

At the thought of Voldemort, Harry was reminded of the reoccurring pains he received in his scar, and a hand subconsciously flew up to hold it as he frowned at the ceiling. His early awakening wasn't new. He had found himself subjected to watching the sun rise a lot recently, since when thoughts didn't plague his day, it was nightmares that haunted him.

Harry slowly pushed back the covers of his bed, which were beginning to stick uncomfortably due to the hot summer air. He stood up carefully, pressed his glasses upon his face, and stretched for a moment, before he proceeded to lumber silently towards his bedroom door. Upon passing his luminous clock, he noted the time of 6.22am. From the top of his chest of drawers, Hedwig studied him dolefully before she gently stretched her wings and gave a low hoot of encouragement. Harry cast her a sideways look as he reached his bedroom door, managed a very faint smile of appreciation before he pulled open the door and stepped out onto the corridor.

He listened very carefully to the surrounding house. Two very loud and consistent snores came from two different rooms off the corridor. That was his Uncle Vernon and cousin, Dudley. Satisfied that this could only mean the Dursley's house was still in slumber, Harry tiptoed towards the bathroom, determined not to wake anyone up. He would likely be asked the most unnecessary questions, such as, "Why are you up at this time in the morning?" or "Where do you think you're going?" or one of Uncle Vernon's recently, "Why are you in the bathroom?" as if it was some criminal offence. However, Harry didn't feel it was appropriate to discuss his bowel movements with the man, and had promptly shut the door in his face.

Today was not so eventful; Harry made it alone to the bathroom and slipped inside without any disturbance. He took the opportunity of the rest of the household being asleep for another few hours to be able to relax in a hot bath uninterrupted.

Harry threw back the door of the bathroom as he exited, the hot mist floating out into the corridor from the now empty but wet bathtub. Harry idly rubbed a towel around his neck as he walked back towards his room, only wearing his pyjama bottoms, pyjama shirt in his hands.

"What are you doing?" said a quiet voice. And Harry spun round to see Dudley's face glaring at him from the gap in his bedroom door.

"What does it look like?" replied Harry in an impatient voice, "I was having a bath. Some of us don't like to smell."

Dudley narrowed his eyes, looking tempted to respond with an insult before suddenly, a cruel smirk came upon his face, "So, what's in your dreams this time?"

Harry, who had turned away to continue walking to his room, instantly froze, and rotated slowly on the spot back to Dudley, pulling the towel from his hair, "What are you on about?" he asked with gritted teeth.

"You keep saying someone's name in your sleep. What is it.. oh yeah.. Sirirs.. Who's he? Your boyfriend or something? Dump Cedric did you?"

Something, which Dudley had not seen before, just occurred in Harry. His eyes had given a dangerous flash of power, similar to that of Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts. It made Dudley feel oddly disconcerted. Harry tightened his hold upon both his pyjama top and damp towel, his eyes continued to glare heatedly through his glasses, "Sirius is my dead godfather you insensitive prat."

"I feel so hurt," said Dudley in a low sarcastic voice, but his eyes had narrowed and he frowned sharply.

"You know nothing of how it feels to hurt," snarled Harry, spinning away from his cousin and speedily entering his room. He slammed the door instantly. However, the sound roused his uncle, who had suddenly made a loud and incessant bellow.

"I'm going to get you boy! Waking me up on a Sunday morning!" and sure enough, within the next few second, thunderous footsteps started as Uncle Vernon stomped his way to Harry's bedroom. The door was thrown upon, "Stop slamming bloody doors at seven o'clock in the morning!" Since that was the first time Harry had slammed his door in a while, he thought the argument put forth was rather unfair. Harry was sat on his bed, towel and pyjama shirt thrown down on the floor in his recent anger. He just glared at the opposite wall, not seeming to notice Uncle Vernon.

Uncle Vernon looked ruffled at the indifference, "Answer me, boy!" he hissed in a strained voice.

"Sorry," said Harry gruffly, though his cool tone proved he didn't mean it. He did not care for apologising to a man who had made his life hell for the past fourteen years.

Uncle Vernon's face tightened as his eyes narrowed shrewdly. He was debating what to do next. Since last year's turn of the Dementor, and Dumbledore's howler, he felt oddly exposed to the wizarding world, like he had no choice but to be part of it. All because of that ruddy boy! But even so, it made him think carefully on how he acted around Harry, though he never refrained from throwing the boy nasty looks or insulting him in conversation. "Don't do it again, or I'll make you wish you had never been born, boy." He exited with a hypocritical slammed closure of Harry's bedroom door.

Harry's eyes slowly slid off the opposite wall to glare at the closed door, burning gaze heatedly staring at it. It seemed the Dursleys had decided it wasn't worth going back to bed, since Harry heard the light-footed steps of his Aunt Petunia head downstairs. In the distance he could hear Uncle Vernon grumbling in undertones. Releasing a tightly wound sigh, Harry stood up from his bed, ran a hand agitatedly through his messy black hair before he turned to his wardrobe and grudgingly dressed for the day. Just as Harry pulled on his last item of clothing an important hoot sounded from his window and he looked over to see a screech owl stood grandly on his windowsill. Neatening the sleeves of his shirt, Harry strode over to the window and took the Daily Prophet off the leg of the owl and placed a bronze Knut into the little pouch around it's ankle. The owl stretched its wings gently before bowing its body and turning to leap off the windowsill and flew out into the bright blue sky.

Harry turned slowly to sit down on his bed, staring down at the front page of the newspaper.

DEATHS AT THE MINISTRY

Harry stared at the headline worriedly for a moment before his eyes quickly scanned across the front-page article, which bore a picture of a witch shaking her head sadly. His eyes focused upon a sudden sentence,

"'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his band of Death Eaters didn't just infiltrate the Ministry of Magic,' says Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Amelia Bones, 'But he murdered several of our co-workers upon entry.' The final list has been drawn today and the witch and wizards' families have been contacted, those named are, Security Guard Eric Munch, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports Ludo Bagman, Secretary of the Department of Magical Transportation Penny Davis and Junior Assistant to Minister Percy Weasley. In due course to the revelation of Voldemort, Sturgis Podmore has been released from Azkaban at Albus Dumbledore's request."

It was then that Harry stopped reading. His eyes stared at the page in utter silence as a freezing cold hole opened in his stomach, draining him of breath. Ludo Bagman, dead? Percy Weasley, dead? The hole vacuumed out his insides. The Weasleys.. how would they react? Especially after the trouble with Percy last year..

Harry dropped the Daily Prophet and hurried over to his desk where there was an unfinished letter for Moody. He quickly sat down at his desk, picked up his quill and hurriedly began to complete the rest of the letter.

When he was done, he checked through it. Moody was always warning him about what he put in the letters in case they were intercepted.

I'm fine. You don't need to send anybody round. Dudley is being as annoying and vicious as usual, I suppose that lets me know everything is normal. I read the front page of today's Daily Prophet.. tell them how sorry I am.. I can't say much here, but hopefully I'll see you all soon..

From Harry.

It was only short, but writing to Moody every three days meant he often didn't have much more than a few lines, and they almost always said the same. He sighed quietly as he folded up the letter, putting it to one side as he pulled out a piece of parchment to write to Ron in person. He had just managed to write, "To Ron," when a voice cracked like a whipped through the morning air. "Breakfast!" screeched Aunt Petunia.

"I'm busy!" bellowed Harry back, still in a foul mood from Dudley.

"I don't care, get down here!"

With an angry growl, Harry snatched up his parchment and stationary set, and angrily stomped downstairs. If Aunt Petunia wanted him downstairs, then he would come and continue writing downstairs.

As the kitchen door silently opened, Uncle Vernon looked up from his newspaper and gave Harry a disliking once over before throwing his beady eyes back behind the sheets of newspaper. He said nothing, which was usual. He only had negative comments to throw Harry's way.

At the kitchen table sat Dudley, once the largest member of the household since he had once reached the size and weight of a young elephant. But now there was a tremendous change. The diet had worked and sat at the table was a much smaller figure, though still a little chubby; Dudley's new figure was a vast improvement, fat turned to brawn. Uncle Vernon had his face buried behind The Guardian, his usual ritual every morning. Harry had slipped into the kitchen silently but not even his stealth was enough for Aunt Petunia's beady eye. She hissed to him suddenly, causing Dudley to peer up from his toast and Vernon to eye him over the top of the paper before he disappeared behind it again.

"What's that you have there?" she said with a dangerous edge on her voice.

Harry looked down to his parchment and quill like he had only just realised he had them and looked calmly at his Aunt Petunia, "A piece of parchment and a feather quill," he answered simply.

Instantly, Uncle Vernon wheeled his eyes off the newspaper and glared at Harry, "Idiot boy!" he hissed, "We don't want people seeing those."

"Can't you just write on a notepad and pen?" asked Aunt Petunia, watching him carefully.

Harry carefully glanced in-between them before he sighed and nodded, he quickly shoved the parchment and quill into his pockets. He looked to up see Aunt Petunia fetching something out of an opened drawer.

"There you are, Harry," she said as she thrust the materials into his hands before she turned away back to the kitchen counter where she prepared breakfast.

Harry? He thought. He turned his head to watch Aunt Petunia who was now calmly slicing up mushrooms. She had never called him by his name, ever. It had always been 'boy', or 'him', or a new addition to Uncle Vernon's list, 'runt'.

However, Harry was not the only one to notice this, Uncle Vernon had froze in mid tea sipping to stare across the room to Petunia who was continuing her busy slicing with the mushrooms. Lips were pursed over her teeth, going a pale white from the loss of blood at the horrible tightness her lips had to stretch to cover them.

Dudley gave a frightened sort of giggle as a heavy silence washed over the household. Aunt Petunia seemed to not notice her mistake or that every eye was upon her. She just cut up her mushrooms still and hovered to the sink to rinse them. It was Uncle Vernon who broke the silence by loudly clearing his throat to begin his daily rant about something in the paper, "Hah! Look at this! Another policeman caught parked on double yellow lines when doing speeding camera business. I tell you! That's the state of our law enforcement today! They're mad, completely mad I tell you! I'll have my say on this, I'm telling you now." Aunt Petunia gave a nod in agreement, and a small speech on her view. Harry however was still watching her. She had changed, he knew it. Perhaps it was the prospect of what Mad-Eye Moody, Lupin, Tonks, and Mr and Mrs Weasley had said just as Harry was to set off home. About the fact if Harry was treated in any sort of disapproving manner the bunch from the Order of the Phoenix would turn up on their doorstep. Harry could imagine that this was probably Aunt Petunia's worst nightmare, since Tonks had been seen with shockingly pink hair.

He sat down slowly at the table, still watching Aunt Petunia out of the corner of his eye. It was only last year that he had learned that Aunt Petunia was in touch with Dumbledore, for he had sent her a howler on the night of the Dementor attack in Little Whinging. The words still ran through his head chillingly, "Remember my last, Petunia.."

Was that to be a turning point for Petunia Dursley? Sister of Lily Potter.

Petunia Dursley. The blood protector of Harry. He wondered how much she knew about the magic upon her and her household.. and if Uncle Vernon was aware..

First chapter, not used to writing Harry Potter, I am normally writing X-Men. Tell me what you think though! Thanks! And hey if any of my usual reviewers check this out!