Disclaimer: Standard stuff (I don't own anything, I won't be making profit, any resemblance to previously published content is purely coincidental, JK Rowling is the coolest, etc.). If I make any legal errors regarding copyrighted material, inform me and I will correct them immediately.

Harry Potter and the Lightning Scar

On the night of August 31—or perhaps more accurately, in the early morning hours of September 1—a small, rat-like man crept through the mist rising off the wet ground, and laid a basket reverently upon the doorstep of a well-to-do London townhouse. He almost snickered to himself at the obvious symmetry—over a decade ago, Dumbledore himself had placed a baby on a doorstep, and the people who opened the door had their lives irrevocably changed. Shaking himself out of his thoughts—there would be plenty of time for that later, and his master would surely make him beg for death if this plan failed on his account—Wormtail gave several sharp knocks on the door, then melted into the shadows, aiming his wand carefully.

Less than a minute later, the door opened, revealing an impeccably-groomed (even at this time of night!) man with a ridiculous toothbrush mustache. Even Wormtail knew about Hitler—how could such a highly-placed Ministry official wear that look? No wonder only his sycophantic personal aide took him seriously. As the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation looked left and right with a searchlight-like lumos, a high, cold voice hissed out in a low whisper that nevertheless carried through the humid air. So typical, for a wizard to search left and right, but neglect to look up or down.

"Imperio," the Dark Lord said. While some wizards merely cast spells, the Dark Lord commanded them. Bartemius Crouch was a strong-willed man, who had extensive experience with the Imperius Curse, but the Dark Lord was not the Dark Lord for nothing. Nobody had ever resisted his will once he imposed it with the Imperius Curse, and Crouch was no different, despite Voldemort's diminished form.

Minutes later, the Dark Lord's army had doubled in size. Proving his devotion, Bartemius Crouch, Junior turned his wand upon his own father, leaving Bartemius Crouch, Senior so badly brain-damaged that his own will no longer existed, and further resistance to the Imperious Curse was rendered impossible—he would remain in Voldemort's thrall for the rest of his life.

Wormtail, the Crouches, and the Dark Lord apparated away to begin the most dangerous phase of the night's activities.

An hour later, a man who looked a great deal like Alastor Moody ennervated Wormtail. After shaking off the lingering effects of the powerful stunner, Wormtail picked up his master and apparated to safety, followed closely by Crouch, Senior (who, claiming to have apprehended Wormtail, had proven to be excellent bait).

The man who looked like Alastor Moody got his game face on. He had always enjoyed the theater, and now he had the chance to deliver the performance of a lifetime.

Immediately after the Welcome Feast, Professor McGonagall had told him that the headmaster wished to see him in his office. Realizing that Dumbledore may suspect that Harry had been away for the summer, as the old man was neither blind nor stupid (Harry's tan didn't exactly scream "England," and his increase in height and muscle and the lack of his glasses suggested some healing), Harry began to go over his plan for this confrontation, which Remus and Sirius had predicted. The three had put together a general scheme—evade Dumbledore's questions, and go on the offensive to demand some answers of his own; if he was lucky, Dumbledore would be thrown off-balance enough to dismiss him and cease the interrogation. After all, they felt that Dumbledore had a great deal to answer for when it came to Harry.

As he entered the office, his attention was drawn to Fawkes, who met Harry's eyes and chirped cheerfully—a "hello" of sorts, to a kindred spirit—as the flames flickering in Fawkes's eyes discovered the lightning hidden behind Harry's. Beneath the phoenix's perch, Harry noted that several of the instruments on Dumbledore's desk were no longer as shiny or active as they had been during Harry's last visit to Dumbledore's office, and most were completely silent.

"Hi, Fawkes," Harry said pleasantly, returning the phoenix's greeting before turning to address Dumbledore. "Good evening, Headmaster."

Dumbledore, who had been somewhat surprised that Harry had greeted the bird (and so familiarly, too!) before his headmaster, sat back in his chair behind tented fingers, before leaning forward to address Harry.

"Harry, my boy. Welcome back to Hogwarts. I'm glad to notice that you are looking quite healthy. May I ask how your holidays were?"

Harry noted the veiled interest beneath the seemingly-casual question. Dumbledore had studied alchemy at the foot of Nicholas Flamel, so it was impossible that he had not by now realized that Harry's new-found health was the result of a course of nutrient potions. And unless Harry was much mistaken, he suspected that at least some of the instruments—about half of which were now apparently dead—on Dumbledore's desk were used to monitor his holly wand (after all, Fawkes had supplied the feather, and Dumbledore could easily use thaumaturgy to track its use) and possibly the premises of Number 4 Privet Drive, if not perform direct surveillance on Harry himself. It was clear that Dumbledore knew that Harry had left Number 4, and was trying—not very subtly—to find out where he had been, and what he had done.

"My holidays were satisfactory, Headmaster," Harry replied after a very slight pause, sufficient to indicate to Dumbledore that he knew very well that the Headmaster's interest was nothing but casual. "And yours?"

"Busy, my boy, very busy," Dumbledore said genially, pretending not to notice or understand the pause. "Organizing the Triwizard Tournament is no mean feat, I can assure you. The negotiations alone..."—he paused, very slightly, as though to consider whether explaining would be worth his time, before waving a hand and shaking his head—"...but I'm certain you don't really want to hear those boring details," he said, dismissing the topic.

Harry decided that it was time to go on the offensive—better to strike first, before Dumbledore managed to get him talking about the health potions, which would lead to Sirius and Remus, which would lead to America, which would lead to Harry disobeying Dumbledore's order to remain at Number 4 Privet Drive. Despite Dumbledore's utter lack of authority to order him around on his holidays, Harry figured that Dumbledore would not quite see it that way, and Harry did have to spend four more years here, and he was hoping to spend those years without Dumbledore trying to get him back under his thumb.

"Yes, sir. I imagine that you must have been quite busy in your posts as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, as well," Harry said lightly, before his eyes hardened and his tone became more serious. "You know, what with the return to activity of a terrorist organization in Britain, and in no less public a fashion than at the Quidditch World Cup, right before the eyes of the international magical community. I imagine the eyes of the world are fixed on our island, awaiting our government's response—and I sincerely doubt that the minor spectacle of endangering schoolchildren for entertainment will distract them. Seeing as how you are a major part of this government, I was hoping you'd let me know what the plan is, moving forward."

Dumbledore's eyes widened almost comically. Harry was sure that the man must have been expecting at least some resistance (after all, he knew that Harry had a habit of concealing some of his schemes at school), but it was clear that he had not even considered the possibility of Harry challenging him so directly.

"Come now, Harry, I'm quite certain that the Ministry of Magic is investigating the events of—"

"Don't give me that, sir," Harry snapped, interrupting him—Harry knew that if he let Dumbledore start working that silver tongue of his, he'd worm his way around the issue and end up painting Harry as unreasonable. "You have the power and the duty to influence events at a national level, but you are doing no such thing. I've read the Daily Prophet all summer!" A lie, of course, but Remus and Sirius had filled him in on the general happenings in magical Britain, and Dumbledore had spent the vast majority of the summer negotiating for the Triwizard Tournament. "You haven't even moved against Fudge's "Kiss on Sight" order on Sirius! You are the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and it is your job to see justice done. I'm starting to think you have some ulterior motive for keeping Sirius from taking care of me!"

Remus had suggested this particular line—Dumbledore had a good idea of how much Sirius meant to Harry, and if Harry called him on his failure to address the issue, he was essentially delivering an ultimatum: Harry's loyalty was no longer blind and unconditional, and Dumbledore would have to earn it from now on, beginning with clearing Sirius Black of all charges. It even held a bit of a threat: if Dumbledore wouldn't see to Sirius's freedom, then Harry would find someone who would—and if it came out that Dumbledore had known of Sirius's innocence but done nothing, his opponents in the Ministry and Wizengamot would have all the ammunition they needed to have him dismissed from his governmental posts.

Internally, Dumbledore reeled—he had called this meeting to find out how the blood protections around Number 4 Privet Drive had collapsed, not to be called to account for his own activities! He had never considered that Harry's loyalty might be called into question, but here it was, as plain as day! He should have known better; Harry had told him at the end of his second year that the Sorting Hat's first choice for him had been Slytherin. Harry's continued loyalty would be essential if the worst should happen, which meant that all of a sudden, it was Dumbledore who would be working to serve Harry's interests, rather than the other way around. Recognizing that the balance had shifted, Dumbledore immediately moved to appease Harry.

"Harry..." Dumbledore began with a tired sigh, the twinkle in his eye long gone and the lines on his face deepening. "Please forgive the pace of an aging man. I do have a plan in the works, but it may take some time to enact. Sirius will be cleared, I promise you."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, standing up. "It's been a long day, and I'd like to catch up with my friends. If there's nothing else, may I be excused?"

"Yes, of course. Just remember, Harry—if there is ever anything you wish to tell me, my door is open."

"Thank you, Headmaster," Harry replied formally, repressing a snort, before giving in to his baser natures and firing off a parting shot. "And sir, if there is ever anything you wish to tell me, I will be glad to hear it."

Harry's first potions lesson of the term was the next afternoon, immediately after lunch. Harry had learned enough occlumency to know that Dumbledore had not attempted legilimency on him the previous night—that virtually ensured that Snape would function as Dumbledore's trigger-man. Harry had begun to suspect that Dumbledore kept Snape around as a sort of "fixer;" that was the only possible explanation for keeping such a reprehensible creature near children. Sirius and Remus had agreed, noting that Snape must be deeply beholden to Dumbledore, who had pulled strings to keep the supposedly-repentant Death Eater out of Azkaban, and now played key roles in many of Dumbledore's less-than-savory (and often illegal) schemes. In truth, a skilled, powerful wizard utterly bereft of morals (as Snape must be) probably made for an extremely useful henchman.

While Harry carefully dissected his horned toad (as several of its body parts were to be used in the potion to be brewed on that Friday's double potions lesson) and mentally prepared for the inevitable confrontation, that selfsame henchman suddenly loomed over his desk.

"Ah, Potter," Snape whispered softly, his voice nevertheless carrying through the silent classroom. "I heard you had a chat with the headmaster last night. Breaking rules already, are we?"

"No, sir," Harry said stiffly, determined not to rise to the bait. "The headmaster only wished to welcome me back to school."

"Demanding special treatment, hmm?" Snape sneered. "Just like your misbegotten mangy mutt of a godfather and your cretin of a father. Look at me when I speak to you, Potter!"

The whole class jumped slightly at the Snape's harsh command. Harry, though, simply closed his eyes for a brief second, took a breath, and then looked into Snape's eyes.

Witnesses never really agreed on the details of what happened next; the simple fact was that very few of the fourth year students had ever heard of occlumency and legilimency, and fewer still would recognize their use between others. What everyone did agree on, though, was that something passed between Harry Potter and Severus Snape, and whatever it was, it was of sufficient magnitude that their curiosity was crushed beneath their collective sense of self-preservation.

Harry and Snape, though, were quite aware of what was happening. As Snape shoved his consciousness into Harry's mind with a brutal thrust of legilimency, he was surprised to find nothing...at first, that is. Within seconds, though, something stirred, and Snape suddenly felt as though he was caught in a vast storm. Tension built and built, with Snape's intrusive mind bending under the mounting pressure, as the professor became aware of absolute fury. In the back of his mind, he recalled the official motto of Hogwarts, before shaking off the stray thought and renewing his assault.

Harry grinned inwardly—Snape, in his arrogance, had allowed his legilimency probe to expose too much of himself (after all, what fourth year was a powerful enough occlumens to be able to get anything out of him?), and the thunderbird raging within his subconscious had become aware of the Dark Mark tainting the professor's soul. Now, all he had to do was sit back and watch the fireworks...

The thunderclap would have shattered eardrums and glass alike, had it existed outside of the two wizards' heads. As it was, power rolled off of Harry, arcing between his fingers, and Snape was expelled from Harry's mind with such force that he physically staggered back, only managing to remain on his feet by grabbing onto Crabbe's conveniently-located neck. Ears ringing from the massive explosion of the mental thunderbolt, he stared at Harry with wide eyes, literally shocked that the whelp had swatted aside his legilimency probe with such ease...and such power. Snape was an arrogant man, but he was also intelligent enough to realize that whatever Potter had been up to over the summer, it had changed him, and—as much as he hated to admit it (though his own sense of self-preservation, carefully honed by service to the Dark Lord, demanded that he do so)—Potter was no longer a mere child to be taken lightly.

Harry, for his part, presented a face of absolute innocence, and met Snape's astonished eyes without an ounce of fear.

"Was there something you wanted, sir?" he asked sweetly, as though he had not just repelled an attack—and one that any court would call Dark Arts, and convict accordingly—with such ease.

Snape glanced around the room, noting that every single eye was upon him. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for your insolence, you arrogant brat," he hissed, before turning his ire upon the rest of the class. "Get back to work, you imbeciles!"

At the end of the period, Harry left the dungeons as quickly as possible, fully expecting retaliation from Snape. However, it never came—Harry reasoned that Snape was probably worried that Harry would go to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement if pushed, and using legilimency against a minor was a serious offense. It was nice, Harry thought, to have some actual blackmail material on his least-favorite person in the world. His musings were interrupted, though, by those he could not escape: his friends.

"Harry, wait up!" Hermione called, with Ron in tow, gasping for breath as she caught up. "What did you do to Professor Snape? You can't just go around...doing...whatever it was you did, to professors!"

"I dunno, Hermione," Ron opined. "Whatever it was, it was bloody brilliant. Totally worth a few points. I can't believe you didn't get detention!"

Harry smiled and nodded, continuing toward Gryffindor tower. In his exultation, Ron didn't appear to notice that Harry had not actually provided an explanation for what had just occurred, and as he chattered animatedly at Seamus and Dean, Hermione proved that she, at least, would not let it go so easily.

"Harry, I know you're hiding something," she whispered furiously. "First that ridiculous lie about your vacation—honestly, how the others were fooled is beyond me—and now throwing a professor around the classroom with your brain?! What has gotten into you? What did you do all summer?!"

Harry stopped and turned to face her—his expression suddenly unreadable, but his eyes betraying his irritation—while internally, his mind whirred. Of course Hermione hadn't actually believed his story about a bit of extra food and hanging out in his bedroom. "Hermione, what did you do all summer? You went home, where you wanted to go, to see your parents who loved you. What would you do if the headmaster told you that you couldn't go home, and instead you had to go where you knew you were hated, and wouldn't give you any good reason why?"

"What?" Hermione said, put off-balance by Harry's sudden anger. "What does that have to do with it?"

Harry's gaze bore into Hermione's eyes, and for the first time in three years of friendship, Hermione was suddenly uncomfortable near Harry.

"It has everything to do with it," Harry hissed, before he turned on his heel and strode away. Taken aback, Hermione didn't come up with any way to continue the argument until after Harry had disappeared up the stairs to the boys' dormitories.

As Harry jumped onto his bed, he realized that he probably shouldn't have gone off on Hermione—technically, he was lying to her, and she was understandably upset. He had always had a bit of a temper—perhaps getting the thunderbird all pumped for a fight, and then not really letting it out had exacerbated that tendency? Well, the solution was simple—go let off some steam.

Harry donned his invisibility cloak, unshrunk his broom, and shot out of his window, closing it behind him. He knew he couldn't transform here—it was broad daylight, and even if he just flew around without causing a storm, someone was bound to see the massive bird and start asking questions. However, he did have his broom, and spent the next few hours rocketing around the skies, taking advantage of and manipulating the air currents to go faster and higher than he ever had on his broom.

It was a much-calmed Harry Potter that walked into the Great Hall for dinner, and after a brief apology to Hermione for his outburst, and citing the stress of his confrontation with Snape—"Professor Snape, Harry"—as the cause. She accepted his apology, though he knew that she, and to a lesser extent, Ron, would soon resume asking questions that he didn't want to answer.

.

"Harry, who is that letter from?"

.

"Hey mate, I saw some photos in your trunk when I was looking for the Map last night—who are they?"

.

"Harry, who are you writing to?"

.

"Hey mate, wouldn't you rather play some chess than read? That looks pretty boring. Why take Arithmancy when you could go for the easy O in Divination?"

.

"Harry, you're doing quite well in classes so far, without even asking for my help...what have you been reading? And where have you been practicing all your spellwork?"

.

"Hey mate, I thought your wand was a bit shorter than that? And what's with the knife?"

The azure flames of the goblet of fire turned crimson for the fourth time, and Harry knew that his hopes for a normal year had been shattered. He was vaguely aware of a sort of clamping feeling, not really in his chest, more like beyond it—had he imagined it, or was he...

.

.

.

Of course he hadn't imagined it.

.

.

.

Dumbledore broke the long silence, clearing his throat. After another pause, he spoke.

"Harry Potter."

This time, the silence was deafening.

And judging by the suspicious look on Hermione's face and Ron's angrily-set jaw, Harry was finally collecting—with interest—whatever bad luck he had earned with his uneventful Chicago trip and generally excellent summer.

Author's Note

Plot Note: Harry assumed that everyone bought his lie about his summer vacation because nobody called him out on it. Some of the craftier people he knows, however, may not be fooled, and even the dullards are starting to become a bit suspicious...

Calendar note: It is clear that the Hogwarts Express and the Welcome Feast takes place on Monday, September 1, and I have bowed to Rowling's calendar to make it so. However, classes also apparently begin on Monday, September 1 (despite Dumbledore's "tomorrow morning" comment at the feast), which is obviously impossible unless Hogwarts is inside of a giant time-turner. Therefore, I've decided that classes will begin on Tuesday, September 2, and this extra day of classes will be made up on Monday, December 21 (previously, the final day of fall term would have been Friday, December 18). That seems to make things work out best.

Also, some reviewers have brought up a few good questions that I'll address in this Author's Note; first, though, I want to thank them for their critique, as it gives me a chance to examine my own work from the reader's point of view, and try to fill in some of the holes I may have inadvertently left in the story.

1. Did Morris ever have that chat with Harry about his living situation? Yes—it happened "off-screen," and I didn't include it explicitly because it would have taken up a whole chapter while not moving the plot or Harry's character forward. I think the background knowledge that it occurred is sufficient, and I think we can all imagine how it went anyway (Dursleys bad, living with godfather and quasi-uncle now, won't let people mistreat me anymore, thanks for the concern, I'm fine).

2. Apparation: age limits are different from driving because if you screw up apparating, you only hurt yourself, while if you screw up driving, you can kill yourself and bystanders. Thus, the standard for apparation in the States is limited to "Can you do it? Try not to splinch yourself. Okay, good enough."

3. Training with Jacob Crane and his buddies: keep in mind that wizards generally have practical schoolwork centered around combat, "friendly duels" are a common pass-time, and every witch and wizard carries around a deadly weapon (wand) as a matter of course—it makes sense to me that wizarding attitudes would be more relaxed regarding dueling training.

4. Abuse reporting: Hopkins treated Harry for malnourishment; Harry never said anything about the Dursleys' neglect. In the absence of any explanation, Hopkins got the impression that the orphan was simply used to "living rough," and that had caused his condition.

5. An "arrangement": That was just the half-asleep musing of a horny teenager. A fully-conscious Harry obviously knows that's unrealistic, and not even that desirable—Harry just isn't that kind of guy, and he knows it. Like I said in an earlier note, Harry isn't suddenly going to become some kind of Lothario; despite his successful (if brief) summer dalliance in America (which was on easy mode anyway, because he was the exotic and powerful foreigner to the local girl with no other easy romantic options her age), Harry still isn't exactly brilliant with the ladies. It's just that now he won't fall apart as soon as a pretty girl looks at him.

6. Thunderbird Properties:

a. Thunderbird Apparation: I think it'll be roughly equivalent to phoenix apparation. There is no metric in canon (or even really in fanon) for the specifics of phoenix apparation, except that it bypasses most anti-apparation wards (yes, "wards" don't explicitly exist in canon, but they're a useful and believable construct that pretty much everyone imagines). Thus, I'll say that the range is equal to that of apparation (and thus dependent upon the wizard's skill and power), and the rest of its properties are the same as phoenix apparation. Harry doesn't realize it, but the fact that his animagus form has a built-in apparation mechanism was one of the things that allowed him to learn to apparate so easily and intuitively (even doing so as a form of accidental magic).

b. Thunderbird Transformations and Storms: Will Harry cause a storm every time he transforms? No; when he transforms, he's just a bigass (and badass) magical bird. He causes a storm as a side effect of going "all-out," and the more he submerges himself in the thunderbird's instincts, the larger and more uncontrolled the storm will be (so if he's just flying around and is suddenly overcome by rage, his fury will manifest itself as a huge storm). Have no fear, he can transform and fly around Hogwarts without turning the place into an electrified flood zone.