The Journey of a Dark Phoenix
Summary-
Harry Potter is the younger twin brother of Andrew Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, and the favorite nephew of their aunt and uncle. After a beating from his cousin and older brother, Harry meets a strange man that is invisible to everyone but him. The man takes Harry as his apprentice and teaches him the ways of a Dark Wizard. When the boys are thrusted into the Wizarding World at the young age of 11, Harry turns the Wizarding World upside down.
Chapter 3-
Two years have flown by since Harry first met Voldemort and had the dream about the boy with the beautiful gray-blue eyes. Everyday, when Harry had free time from all his chores, he would sit down to either practice and learn magic or meditate with his Master, and every night he would dream about the blue-gray eyed boy. Over the years Harry had gotten very good at controlling his magic, Self-healing and Manipulation were his specialty. He had began to manipulate his relatives into giving him more food, but even though he was getting more food he was still shorter than his proper height because he was forced to sleep in a cupboard. Harry has yet to tell his brother, or anyone else, about his training and his Master.
Right now, Harry was sitting in the library researching a name for himself, on his Master's orders, a year ago he had found out that his Master's name, Voldemort, meant ' Flight of Death' in French. Harry sighed and was about to give up for the day and try again tomorrow when a word caught his eye 'Phoenix', he knew that these legendary birds lived for five or six centuries in the Arabian desert, when it died it burnt itself on a funeral pyre and rose from the ashes with renewed youth. Harry smirked, he would be called Phoenix to his closest allies and when his Master rose he would name him that to his Death Eaters.
Harry stood up, put the books he had been using up, before walking out the front door and toward the park. It was time to inform his Master of his new name, and it would be a good chance to meditate. Harry walked to a tree to sit in the shade, he sat and cleared his mind of all thoughts and went into his mind scape that he had transformed into a library, and, with the help of his Master, he had made it so that to anyone that was not invited in would see only a huge labyrinth.
Harry felt his magic tingle, alerting him of someone standing in front of him. He opened his eyes to see his Master standing in front of him and he quickly stood up and bowed his head respectfully like he had been taught to do by his Master. "Good afternoon Master."
"Good afternoon Harry." Voldemort said then sat down and motioned for Harry to sit.
"I have finally found myself a new name." Harry said sitting.
"Oh, and what is the name you have picked out?" Voldemort asked.
"Phoenix, because I will rise from the ashes that is my life now and will be reborn into a new person." Harry said.
"Phoenix." Voldemort said testing out the new name on his tongue, "Yes, that name will suit you perfectly. And when I come back to life I will tell only my inner circle your name, and if anyone that is not one of my followers hear I have an apprentice they will not think of you." Harry smiled, "Now, there is something I must tell you, yours and your brother's Hogwarts letter will arriving to you soon, most likely a few days before your 11th birthday."
"Okay." Harry said, "Will you be at Hogwarts with me Master?"
"Yes, I will be possessing the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Quirrell. Not only will I be there, but my spy, Professor Snape, will be there to help you to learn Occlumency and Legilimency, and you will need it around Dumbledore. Now I believe it is time for you to return to your relatives house." Voldemort said.
"Yes Master." Harry said then stood up, "I will be waiting for my letter. I can not wait to see the looks on everyone's faces when I am sorted into Slytherin like you were Master." Voldemort and Harry shared a dark smirk.
"I will see you at Diagon Ally, and if I don't see you there, I will see you at Hogwarts." With that said Voldemort vanished and Harry began to walk home. When he got home he was forced to cook dinner for everyone, but himself, of course he was able to sneak some food and manipulate his aunt into giving him the left overs.
~The Journey of a Dark Phoenix~
The weeks leading towards Harry and Andrew's birthday flew by them fast, with Harry being forced to be the Dursley's slave and Andrew loudly making his birthday list that seemed to grow inches everyday. And everyday Harry was forced to wait for the mail while the happy family ate the breakfast that they forced Harry to make. On Tuesday, a week before their birthday, the letters came, just like his Master said they would. And even though Harry had been expecting them, he was still shocked to see them with the other mail. He bent over and picked up the pile of mail before taking his letter and looked at it. The envelope was think and heavy, it was made of yellow parchment, and the address what writing in a green ink. What really caught Harry's attention was that there was no stamp, he turned his letter over and found a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter 'H'. He turned the letter back over and saw that the letter was addressed:
'Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey'
"Hurry up boy!" Uncle Vernon shouted from the dinning room, startling Harry out of the trance like state that he had put himself into, "What are you doing, checking the mail for bombs?" he laughed at his own joke while Harry rolled his eyes before he went back into the dinning room. He handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard that had been the mail, and handed Andrew his letter before he sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope. Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard. "Marge's ill," He informed Aunt Petunia, "Ate a funny whelk-."
"Dad!" Dudley said suddenly. "Dad, Harry's got something!" Harry looked up to see that Andrew quickly hid his letter in his shirt. Vernon looked at it the letter in Harry's hand to Harry who had been on the point of unfolding his letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope before he had looked up to look at Dudley, the letter was jerked sharply out of his hand by Uncle Vernon.
"That's mine!" Harry said trying to snatch it back.
"Who'd be writing to you?" Uncle Vernon sneered shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds it was the grayish white of old porridge. "P-P-Petunia!" he gasped. Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.
"Vernon! Oh my goodness- Vernon!" They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry, Andrew, and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley and Andrew weren't used to being ignored. Dudley gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.
"I want to read that letter," He said loudly.
"I want to read it as it's mine."Harry said furious that his uncle dared to take his Hogwarts letter away.
"Get out, all three of you," Uncle Vernon croaked stuffing the letter back inside its envelope. None of them moved.
"I WANT MY LETTER!" Harry shouted.
"Let me see it!" Dudley demanded.
"OUT!" Uncle Vernon roared and he took both Harry and Andrew by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall before throwing Dudley out of the kitchen and slammed the kitchen door behind them. Dudley moved to look through the key hole but was stopped when Andrew tugged on his shirt before he whispered something in his ear, what Harry didn't know because he was too busy trying to figure out how to get his letter back and looked through the key hole.
"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "Look at the address, how could they possibly know where he sleeps? You don't think they're watching the house?"
"Watching, spying, might be following us," Uncle Vernon muttered wildly.
"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want-" Harry saw Vernon get up and start pacing the kitchen.
"No," He said finally, "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer- Yes, that's best, we won't do anything."
"But-"
"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took them in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense? It seemed to have worked with Andrew, if we give it a little bit longer it will work with the boy." Uncle Vernon said. Harry growled silently, like hell he would let them stamp out his magic. Harry stumbled back when the door swung open, Vernon glared at him but didn't say any thing and he stormed down the hallway, grabbed his briefcase and left for work.
~The Journey of a Dark Phoenix~
That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before; he visited Harry in his cupboard. "Who sent me the letter? Where is my letter?" Harry asked the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed through the door.
"No one, it was addressed to you two by mistake," Uncle Vernon said shortly, "I have burned it."
"It was not a mistake," Harry growled angrily, "It had my cupboard on it."
"SILENCE!" Uncle Vernon yelled and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. He took a few deep breaths and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful. "Er- yes, Harry- about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking, you're really getting a bit big for it, we think it might
be nice if you moved into the Andrew's room and share with him."
"Why?" Harry asked.
"Don't ask questions!" His uncle snapped automatically. "Take this stuff upstairs, now." The Dursely's house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one for Andrew. It only took Harry one trip upstairs to move everything he owned from the cupboard to this room. He sat down on the bed that wasn't covered with Andrew's stuff and stared around him. He couldn't see the floor because Andrew's stuff covered it with everything; dirty and clean clothes, books that he would never read, and old candy rapers. From downstairs came the sound of Andrew bawling at their aunt.
"I don't want him in there! I don't want to share a room with him! Make him get out!" Harry sighed and stretched out on his new bed. Yesterday he'd have given anything to be up here. Today he'd rather be back in his cupboard with that letter than up here without it.
~The Journey of a Dark Phoenix~
Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Andrew was in shock, he'd screamed, whacked their uncle with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked their aunt, and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn't have his room back. Dudley was glaring at Harry and Harry was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing he'd opened the letter in the hall. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.
When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harry, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted, "There's two more! 'Mr. H. Potter The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive-'" With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leaped from his seat and ran down the hall, Harry right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact that Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind. After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with Harry's letters clutched in his hand.
"Go to your cupboard- I mean, your bedroom," He wheezed at Harry. "Dudley- go- just go."
Harry walked round and round his part of his new room. Someone in the magical world knew he had moved out of his cupboard and they seemed to know he hadn't received his first letter. Surely that meant they'd try again? And this time he'd make sure they didn't fail. He had a plan. He would get his letter! Sadly his plan meant he had to tell his brother, who he was now sharing a room with.
The alarm clock rang at six o'clock the next morning. Harry turned it off quickly and him and his brother dressed silently, they mustn't wake the Durselys. They stole downstairs without turning on any of the lights. They were going to wait for the postman on the corner of Privet Drive and get the letters for Number Four first. Harry's heart hammered as they crept across the dark hall toward the front door. Harry leaped into the air; he'd trodden on something big and squashy on the doormat, something alive!
Lights clicked on upstairs and, to his horror, Harry realized that the big, squashy something had been his uncle's face. Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure that Harry didn't do exactly what they'd been trying to do. He shouted at Harry for about half an hour, not Andrew because Andrew had told Uncle Vernon that Harry had made him do this, which was true, and then told him to go and make a cup of tea. Harry shuffled miserably off into the kitchen and by the time he got back, the mail had arrived, right into Uncle Vernon's lap.
Harry could see six letters addressed to him in green ink. "I want-" he began, but Uncle Vernon was tearing the letters into pieces before his eyes. Uncle Vernon didn't go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.
"See," He explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, "If they can't deliver them they'll just give up."
"I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon."
"Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they're not like you and me," Uncle Vernon said, trying to knock in a nail with the piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him.
On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for Harry. As they couldn't go through the mail slot they had been pushed under the door, slotted through the sides, and a few even forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom. Uncle Vernon stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could go out. He hummed 'Tiptoe Through the Tulips' as he worked, and jumped at small noises, Harry had a blast with that.
On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to Harry found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window. While Uncle Vernon made furious telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in her food processor.
"Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?" Dudley asked Harry in amazement.
On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy. "No post on Sundays," He reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, "No damn letters today-" Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Durselys and Andrew ducked, but Harry leaped into the air trying to catch one.
"Out! OUT!" Uncle Vernon seized Harry around the waist and threw him into the hall. When Aunt Petunia, Dudley, and Andrew had run out with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor. "That does it," Uncle Vernon said trying to speak calmly but was pulling great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. "I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave, we're going away, just pack some clothes. No arguments!"
He looked so dangerous with half his mustache missing that no one dared argue, though Harry did let a few giggles loose. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag.
They drove, and they drove, Harry took this time to meditate. Aunt Petunia didn't even dare ask where they were going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while. "Shake'em off, shake'em off," He would mutter whenever he did this.
They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall Dudley and Andrew were howling, they'd never had such a bad day in their life, they were hungry, they'd missed five television programs they'd wanted to see, and they'd never gone so long without blowing up an alien on their computers. Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley, Andrew, and Harry shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley and Andrew slept with Dudley snoring loudly but Harry stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill meditating.
The next morning they ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast. They had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to their table. "'Scuse me, but is one of you Mr. H. Potter? Only I got about an 'undred of these at the front desk." She held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:
'Mr. H. Potter
Room 17
Railview Hotel
Cokeworth' Harry made a grab for his letter but Uncle Vernon knocked his hand out of the way. The woman stared. "I'll take it." Uncle Vernon said standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.
"Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, hours later while they were driving; Harry had once again taken that opportunity to meditate; but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, none of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car, and off they went again. The same thing happened in the middle of a plowed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking garage.
"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully late that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car, and disappeared. It started to rain, great drops beat on the roof of the car, Andrew and Dudley sniveled.
"It's Monday," Dudley told his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television." Monday, this reminded Harry of something, if it was Monday- and you could usually count on Dudley or Andrew to know the days the week, because of television- then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Harry's and Andrew's eleventh birthday. Of course, his birthdays were never exactly fun- last year, the Durselys had given him a coat hanger and a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks, Harry's eyes narrowed when he remembered that, while Andrew had gotten thirty-eight presents. Still, you weren't eleven every day.
Uncle Vernon was back and he was smiling. He was also carrying a long, thin package and didn't answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he'd bought. "Found the perfect place!" He said. "Come on! Everyone out!" It was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out at sea, perched on top of the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. One thing was certain, there was no television in there. "Storm forecast for tonight!" Uncle Vernon said gleefully, clapping his hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!" A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-gray water below them. "I've already got us some rations," Uncle Vernon said, "So all aboard!"
It was freezing in the boat, icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house. The inside was horrible, it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty, and there were only two rooms. Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and four bananas. He tried to start a fire but the empty chip bags just smoked and shriveled up. "Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" He said cheerfully. He was in a very good mood. Obviously he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Harry glared at Vernon before privately agreeing with him, though the thought didn't cheer him up at all.
As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them, spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the filthy windows. Aunt Petunia found a few moldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa and made Andrew a bed with some of the blankets on the floor, leaving no blankets left for Harry. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, and Harry was left to find the softest bit of floor he could and to curl up under his old and thin jacket, but that was okay, because Harry wrapped his magic around him and kept himself warm.
The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Harry couldn't sleep, he shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, his stomach rumbling with hunger. Dudley's snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. The lighted dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Harry he'd be eleven in ten minutes' time. He lay and watched his birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all that it would also be his birthday, because he knew they would remember it would be Andrew's, wondering where the letter writer was now.
Five minutes to go. Harry began to draw himself a birthday cake in the dirt, his head snapped up when he heard something creak outside. Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that he'd be able to steal one somehow. Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that? And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea? One minute to go and he'd be eleven. Thirty seconds...twenty...ten...nine- maybe he'd wake Dudley and Andrew up, just to annoy them- three...two...one...BOOM. The whole shack shivered and Harry and Andrew sat bolt upright, they glanced at each other before turning to staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.