Lolz, okies this is only the first part of ch.1and i know its really boring right now, but i swear, it gets better.

btw, this is one of those things that i wrote as almost a parody of JK Rowlings actual storyline, so I'm pretty much setting Harry Potter on his head. It's pretty unrealistic.

Voice of the Snake

Ra-ta-ta-tack! Rap!

Harry turned over in his bed, groaning. It took a couple moments for the teenager to orientate himself in his bedroom, but once he did, the seventeen-year-old wished he was still asleep. The presence of his dream still lingered at the edge of his consciousness, but the awkward rapping on his door was quickly shooting down the warm fuzzy feeling it had produce. Lifting himself out of the creaking bed, he almost made his way towards the door, before thinking better of it.

"What?" He called out groggily, falling back onto his bed. The rapping stopped abruptly, and a panicked voice shrilled its way through the keyhole. Suddenly, Harry wished the knocker had not spoken, for her voice gave him a horrible headache.

"Up! Up right now, you hear me? They will be here in less then two hours? Two, you understand me? Up this instant, boy!" Aunt Petunia's voice creaked through the wooden door, and Harry squinted over at his watch which lay on the tiny table which served as his desk. The world was fuzzy without his glasses and he reached for them blindly. His hand missed and sent a inkwell and an assortment of bits and baubles falling to the floor with a clatter. "What are you doing in there?" Aunt Petunia shrieked, and rattled to door handle, knowing that she couldn't get in anyways.

"Nothing! I'm up, alright!" Harry called back, his frustration showing as he climbed off his bed and began rummaging through the mess trying to locate his glasses. He could almost see his aunt flinch behind the door, and she quickly stumbled away. Despite the terrorizing that they had inflicted on Harry for most of his life, he knew that his aunt and uncle were desperately terrified of him and his wizarding ways. Only one year left. It's almost done, and I'll be out of here soon. Harry reminded himself as he slipped his glasses onto his nose. A glance at his watch told him it was exactly 6:01 am.

"Great-" He muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes. "Less than two hours alright. One bloody minute less and its already a reason for panic." As if to spite him, the tiny minute hand moved ever so slightly. 6:02. Grunting his anger he picked up the watch by the worn brown leather strap and threw it against the far wall, smiling satisfactorily as a tiny crunch let him know that it was broken. His wave of anger disappeared in a moment, and he lifted himself up and moved over to pick up the broken watch. Sighing, he slipped it onto his wrist and fastened the strap tightly. He couldn't fix it until he was back at school, but it would do best not to forget it. He looked around the room, noting that it was in a great disarray. Great, now he had just under two hours to fit his entire room's holdings into his trunk which was already almost full with assorted things from last year he had been to lazy to clean up before. He took a deep breath and decided he had better start right away. It was probably best to avoid the Dursleys for now, they were no doubt in a state of complete madness. Harry smiled and his eyes fell upon the single most treasured piece of paper on his tiny 'desk'. It was creased deeply from unfolding and refolding, and worn from obvious handling, but Harry cherished it. It was his package out of there, it was his life force right now. Taking it up in his hands, Harry read it again, though he had memorized ever word of it.

Harry,

I would like to inform you that I will be picking you up at 8:00 sharp with an escort on August 12 and that you should be ready to leave for Hogwarts at that time. You will not be permitted to return to you house, so pack everything you will need. It is also my pleasure to inform you that upon graduating your final year at Hogwarts, you will be fully incorporated into the wizarding community, and you will no long be required to live with the Dursely's, though if you so wish, I am certain you will be welcome within their home.

Best wishes,

Headmistress McGonagall

Harry laughed at the letter again, despite it's formality. Professor McGonagall – or should he now refer to her as Headmistress McGonagall – all ways had a flair for formality, and her strict personality confirmed the letter was indeed from her. Her mention of his 'welcome at the Durselys' – however – was hilariously funny to the sixteen-year-old, for he knew he was as welcome in his aunt and uncle's house as a plague of fleas. Probably less. The fact that he was being picked up from his house by a group of wizards only intrigued him marginally. It had become routine in the last couple of years, though he could think of no reason why anyone would need to pick him up this year. Lord Voldemort was still on the loose – true enough – but no one had ever seen that as a reason to keep Harry protected. They had only sought to protect him when Sirius was out-and-about – not to mention that everyone thought he was a killer. A tiny wave of grief passed through Harry. Sirius was dead. Had been for over two years now. The seed of remorse that Harry had always in his heart had lately been flourishing. He had lost his mother and father when he was but a year old and though it was a tragedy, Harry now saw it as a small mercy in its own way. They would have died sooner or later, the lord had marked them down for death, and once He decided you were dead, not much could change that. No one survived him, no one except Harry. They had died protecting his infant-self however, and as such, he never really knew them. It bother the teenager that he never really knew his parents, never had that connection with them, but after loosing Sirius – the one man he could see as his father, the one man who was his family – Harry was grateful he had never had that love with his parents, only to lose it. A new death had pained Harry also. Dumbledore. Some called him the greatest wizard who ever lived (others the second, after Voldemort himself), while others called him the 'true resistance to evil'. He was the only wizard Voldemort had ever feared, the one in which all hope lied. And he was gone. Dead by the one only he had trusted. Harry shook with re-newed fury. The paper crumpled as he clenched his fist, and sound of the hard paper cracking made him jump out of his violent mood. He looked down at the two other letters with a happier air. The first was from his best friend, Ron Weasley. He had not seen Ron for a while now, but he was anxiously awaiting his visit to the Burrow, the Weasley house in the English Countryside. It seemed that ever summer since starting at the wizarding school Hogwarts, Harry had spent at least part of his summer at the redhead's small and overpopulated house. The other letter was from Dumbledore himself, which Harry had received from a strange owl sometime during the summer. It was still in its envelope and each time Harry looked at it, grief reared its ugly head. Harry watched the neat scrawling handwriting, and felt his anger and disappointment boiling once more.

To Harry,

After my death

That's all that was written on the envelope, and Harry had no intention of opening the long letter. His anger surfacing once more, he picked up the letter and tore it in to tiny shreds without opening it. When the multiple papers were little more than confetti, the sixteen-year-old looked around, wondering what to do with the papers. In a last flash of irony, he placed them on the bottom of his own owl's – Hedwig – cage.

"I'm sure Hedwig will enjoy it more as a bed more than I will as a letter." He muttered to himself. The owl that had delivered the letter had stuck around for most of the summer – to the Dursely's horror and Harry's annoyance – and now simply regarded him with a scrutinizing expression as if to say "That's not what the letter was meant for you know." However, it apparently had decided that it's job was completed (or will never be completed anyways) and with a tiny scolding hoot, took off through the open window into the fading night. Harry thought of going and closing the window behind the night colored owl, but quickly refrained from the childish action. Hedwig was still out in the night, and she would be quite angry with him if he locked her out. Instead, Harry shook his head helplessly and made his way downstairs.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were arguing – an phenomenon that had lately become very common – Harry noted curiously in the dining room, so he quickly turned away from there. It would probably to best not to get a vase in the head. Harry resolved, and entered the sitting room. Again, his plans were thwarted, for before the television, a familiarly plump Dudley was filling half of the sizable couch, his thoughts completely absorbed by colorful lights of the screen before him. Instead, Harry turned towards the kitchen. Dudley was never up so early – rarely was Vernon either, for that matter – a clear indication that the round boy was sufficiently terrified. All the same, Harry had no intention of disturbing his cousin. Terrified of magic Dudley may be, but he was very protective over his things, and there was no chance of Harry sitting down beside him. Instead, the lanky teen with tussled black hair began to make himself breakfast, only a small one however (Mrs. Weasley always makes great beacon and eggs, and Harry had no doubt that was the first place McGonagall would whisk him away to.

A sudden pop from the living room, followed by a shrill screech from Dudley startled Harry into dropping his plate. He had re-entered the sitting room before the plate landed, however.

"Good Lord, is this Harry?" A distinct voice asked, amused.

"Don't touch me!" Dudley shrilled, a true note of panic in his voice. Harry spun around, rage boiling. That voice – complete in all it's smugness and oily sarcasm – could only belong to Snape. His wand out, he aimed for the source of the voice, but to his surprise, it was not the ex-Potions Master he was facing, but a black-haired female in an emerald cloak.

"Going to Hex me, Potter?" Harry shook his head, hoping the vision would leave. How she spoke, her facial expression was so much like that of Snape, and yet there were stark differences The way she said 'Potter' was nearly too much for him. He began to move his wand, but suddenly found his hand empty. He looked around him dumbly, as if he had dropped it, and a laugh escaped from the girl. He glared at her, and a sudden commotion in the hallway made his attention turn away from the black-haired witch. Vernon and Petunia came rushing in, their faces flustered. Petunia immediately rushed over to Dudley, trying to pry him from his fetal position – which, Harry speculated, made him look even more like a round ball than ever. Vernon, however, had halted the moment he was in the room, gaping at the witch.

"Who are you?" He gasped, with awe in his voice. Petunia looked up at her husband, her lips pursed, and shot a look behind Harry at the emerald-cloaked figure accusingly. Harry stopped in his tracks, practically not breathing. He shot a look at the figure behind him, but she was completely ignoring Vernon, her eyes on Harry. Vernon – all of the Durselys – had always hated magic, so why was he suddenly so infatuated with this strange witch? Yes, she was quite pretty, but she was no Veela. Harry shook his head, and began searching for his wand, only to find that he could not move his legs. He groped at them in slight panic just as vase whistled past his ear. A shattering let him know that it had missed it's destination and hit the far wall. An angry yell from Vernon told him that the vase had only narrowly missed the considerable bulk of his uncle, and an equally shrill yell from his aunt let him know that WWIII was on the brink of erupting. Suddenly all went quiet.

"Enough!"

Harry stood up strait, the strictness in the voice placed her inanimately Professor McGonagall – Headmistress rather – came out from the shadow, apparently having been there the whole time. The Durselys appeared frozen in place, though the movement in their eyes let Harry know that they knew exactly what was going on around them.

"I'm glad you are still here, Harry." McGonagall said kindly, though there were still traces of strictness in her voice, as if would never entirely leave. Harry regarded her icily. He had stayed with the Durselys until his seventeenth birthday as Dumbledore had requested, but had been prepared to leave the following day. He had no intention of returning to Hogwarts for his final year, instead he decided to dedicate himself to the search for the pieces of Voldemort's soul... and then on to Voldemort himself. On the morning of his birthday, however, he had received a note.

Don't even think of leaving.

Harry had never had any doubts that it was from McGonagall, and yet, grudgingly he stayed. Though he never quite had the same respect for the new Headmistress of Hogwarts as her predecessor, he dared not disobey. However, the moment he got back to Hogwarts, he had no intention of staying at school. His mission was more important, and no one would stop him. McGonagall – as if sensing his thoughts – smiled knowingly.

"Well, it's time to be off." She told Harry with cheeriness that Harry only remembered in Dumbledore. "Nyoka, you may give Harry back his wand now." She told the witch in the same manner as she spoke to her students. Nyoka rolled her eyes, and with a tiny flick of the cape, Harry's wand reappeared in the air before him. He grabbed for the floating wand, and it moved just out of his grasp. He glared at her, and with a chuckle, she let him take back his wand. He pocketed it carefully. With a deep sigh, he turned to go upstairs.

"No need, Harry. You're things are well on their way to the Burrow. If you please?" And the Headmistress Disaparated. With a smug look at Harry, Nyoka followed. Harry sighed, wondering why no one seemed to care that he had not yet passed his Apparation test. All the same, Harry followed the two females to the Burrow.