Rating:
R
House:
Schnoogle
Characters:
Draco Malfoy
Genres:
General Romance
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Order of the Phoenix
Stats:
Published: 12/31/2003
Updated: 04/18/2004
Words: 181,191
Chapters: 46
Hits: 99,765

Harry Potter and Unexpected Beginnings

dan's girl62

Story Summary:
The summer after OoTP, Harry discovers he has control of his connection with Voldemort, and uses it to his advantage. With the help of his friends, and an unexpected joining of their team, Harry and the gang return to school for their 6th year and go in search of a way to defeat Voldemort. However, when teenage hormones set in, can Harry find room in his heart to love, or will he reject her based on fear of a prophecy that dictates his future...or lack thereof. Rated R for future chapters.

Chapter 01

Posted:
12/31/2003
Hits:
11,575

Harry Potter and Unexpected Beginnings

The sun drove down on the identical housetops, radiating the heat of summer. The sounds of children laughing in a nearby yard, echoed through the Saturday humdrum of lawn mowers and hedge clippers. House windows were left open, to catch the breeze of the day, and the soft aromas of various lunches being prepared filled the warm air. Life continued much as it always had, except for one lone person. Sitting in the shade of a large oak tree in the backyard of number four Privet Drive, was a teenage boy. His messy hair shadowing his be-speckled eyes from the sun, his hands curled around the thick book he'd been reading for the past two weeks. He appeared much like any other fifteen-year-old boy, with the exception of the lightening bolt scar on his forehead.

Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, had suffered the end of the worst of all years, just a few weeks ago. With the loss of his godfather, and the knowledge of the prophecy tucked within his mind, his world had taken on a sense of seriousness. His mood had become less open, less friendly, less obedient, especially toward his relatives. He had seen and felt more than any person four times his age, and he chose to tuck his feelings concerning all of it away, rather than confront them. It was less painful to think of oneself as cold, and unfeeling, then to grieve for hours and days on end. He allowed his anger to motivate him, his hatred to push him into positive actions. Since the death of his godfather, his whole life had taken on a new routine. Every morning before dawn, so the neighbors wouldn't see him and glare at the delinquent living with the Dursleys, Harry would don an old pair of sweat pants, tee shirt and trainers, and set out running. He worked his way up from a few blocks to over five kilometers a day, in no time at all. He spent hours on end in his little room, lifting cans he'd filched from the trashbins, and filled with a variety of rocks to weight them down, sealing the ends with duct tape he'd confiscated from his Uncle Vernon's tool box. In just a few short weeks since the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry had managed to transform his once thin arms and legs into strong limbs of muscles. He had taken on a daily routine of five hundred sit-ups and nearly as many pushups, giving him a tight abdomen and strong shoulders. His appearance had slowly changed over the weeks, giving him the image of a silent threat, to anyone who dared to look twice at him. Even his porkley-sized cousin, Dudley, and his gang of cronies thought twice now about confronting the young wizard.

The sound of Uncle Vernon's lawn mower echoed through the air, coming closer to where Harry sat reading. Shortly after school, Harry had sent Hedwig to Diagon Alley to purchase The Advanced Book of Dark Arts and Forbidden Curses. If it hadn't been for Dumbledore authorizing his purchase, the storekeeper at Flourish and Blotts would not have sold it to him. Usually, this sort of book was reserved for Aurors only, but considering the news of the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, it was considered logical for his would-be-defeater to be armed with as much information as possible. Since then, every spare moment he had was spent reading and studying the various spells, curses and hexes contained within the thick leather covers. Harry shifted slightly on the hard ground; feeling the wand he had tucked within his shirt, poke him in his side. He had taken to carrying his only object of defense with him last year, and continued the habit now. His senses were heightened and alert to every rustle of the wind, every sigh and every whisper of the children nearby. He would react with lightening speed to any sound he heard, ready for an attack. He knew now, it was inevitable. Voldemort was coming, and he had to be ready.

Harry continued to read a particularly difficult spell on disembowelment, when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up in response to an oversized shadow that fell across him. Looking up from his reading with a frown, Harry saw his enormous cousin standing over him, his usual smirk of distaste etched on his face, his porkley hand wrapped around a large ice cream cone.

"Are you trying to convince someone, you know how to read?" Dudley snorted loudly. "That freak school you go to can't possibly have normal lessons." The stupid smile he was wearing suddenly disappeared when he took notice of the type of book his cousin was reading. "Wh...What is that?" he stammered. Seeing the wording on the front cover, he gave an audible gasp that sounded much like a pig snorting. His normal dim-witted reactions slowed even more than normal, as a look of fear crossing his suddenly pale features. "Dad will kill you, when he sees you reading that thing in public," Dudley announced, pointing a pudgy finger to the book Harry was reading.

"Sod off, Porky", Harry snarled, watching the fear cross his cousin's beady eyes. The sound of the lawn mower shutting off indicated his uncle had finished mowing the front lawn and was about to start on the back. Dudley turned around quickly, as his equally engorged father stomped toward them.

"Dad, look what Harry is reading," Dudley announced proudly. Uncle Vernon glanced down to his nephew, instantly turning a shade of purple that matched the plums in Petunia's kitchen drawer.

"What are you doing out of the house with that?" demanded Uncle Vernon in a soft growl, the veins in the side of his neck popping out dangerously.

"I know you think me ignorant, but my guess would be, reading it." Harry was no longer afraid of his Uncle, as he once was, due partly to his newly acquired muscles, but mostly because it had occurred to him shortly after starting his summer holidays, that he had faced Voldemort, who was more menacing and threatening then all of his relatives put together, and had survived to tell the tales.

"Don't take that tone of voice with me, boy, and get back in the house before the neighbors see you," Uncle Vernon demanded. Harry stood slowly, shutting the book as he straightened his legs. Not only had he developed his physical attributes, he had also grown at least three inches since the start of summer. He stared down at his uncle, un-phased by his tone of voice, offering him a soft smirk and a glare of his narrowed eyes.

"As you wish," Harry said softly. "I have a letter to send to Mad-Eye Moody, anyway." The announcement of the man who had threatened Vernon at King's Cross at the beginning of summer, caused a sudden fear to race through the fat man's frame, forcing the purple in his chubby cheeks to turn ashen, and the glass of lemonade his Aunt had stepped out of the house with, to crash on the patio stones. Harry smiled brightly to himself as he walked casually past Aunt Petunia, and into the kitchen, snatching a sandwich from the platter his aunt had prepared for lunch, along with a large red apple from the counter as he proceeded up the stairs to his cramped bedroom.

Harry felt a soft pang of guilt in the back of his head, with the realization that he had already owled Moody, when he awoke earlier that morning, but quickly pushed it aside. He hated his relatives as much as they hated him, and it gave him a shimmer of pleasure to irritate them occasionally for all the grief they have given him, over the years. Sitting on his small bed, Harry opened the book again, re-reading the spell he had been studying for the past two hours. The sudden pain in his head, forced him to finally pay attention to it, and he tossed the large leather clad item aside, resting his head back against his flat pillow.

With eyes shut tight, Harry began to go over the Occlumency lessons, determined to master the task before returning to school and starting lessons back up with Snape. The ache in his head began to diminish as he was able to relax and clear his mind of all thought. His progress was such a surprise, that even he was amazed at how well he was doing. In a state of complete relaxation, Harry could feel himself floating away on a cloud of peaceful retreat. His thoughts seemed to drift out beyond Little Winging, beyond London, even beyond the present and into the darkness of another world.

Harry found himself standing in a narrow hallway outside a dimly lit room, no outside light entered, making Harry suspect it was nightfall. The crackles of a fire echoed through the silence, and he forced himself to walk closer to the room who's door stood slightly open. He had the urge to push it open and step further inside, as he saw the shadows of the room's occupants and froze where he stood. The heat radiating from the small confines of the room was stifling, and Harry found himself having to breath around the thick, smoky aroma.

He heard a familiar, squeaky voice bouncing off the walls of his mind, and realized instantly it was Wormtail. Harry knew his mind had traveled back to Voldemort, but he also knew there was a definite difference this time. This time, he was in control of his mind. He was a silent visitor in the cold, dank surroundings of his enemy's lair.

"But Master, I have tried," Wormtail was sniveling, his shadow cast by the light of the fire showed him crouching on the floor in front of his master, trembling in fear. "I can not find the spells Dumbledore uses, even our spies at the Ministry can't find them."

"Impossible!" hissed Voldemort angrily, as an object was hurled across the room to smash against the opposite wall. The fearful squeak from Wormtail mingled with the growling hiss from Voldemort. "There must be a way to break through his defenses. There are weaknesses, I know it. I must have them." Voldemort's shadow turned to face the sniveling form of his servant curled on the floor before him. "I am tired of your failure," he snarled. "I have suffered your stupidity for the last time."

"Master, please, have mercy," Wormtail pleaded, his shadow curling in a smaller ball on the floor, as if hoping to hide from his master's anger. "I beg of you." Voldemort's shadow raised his arm in the air above his head, the wand apparent in his shadowed grip.

"Forgive me, Master," a woman's voice said, as Harry turned to see Bellatrix walk right past him as if he was not there. His eyes narrowed and his hands balled into tight fists, as he watched her pass him by. She pushed the door open further and Harry could see the image of Wormtail on the carpet, unable to see more than the hem of Voldemort's robes around the door and Bellatrix, who stood in his line of vision. The sound of pleasure echoed in her evil shrill, as she interrupted her ruler's actions of punishment. "You told me alert you to any changes at the ministry." These words put an abrupt halt to Wormtail's torture.

"What have you found out?" the cold hiss of Voldemort demanded.

"Fudge has ordered a complete lock down of all departments," Bellatrix announced. "Every crack of the ministry has been placed on the highest alert, even that stupid muggle-loving Weasley's corner has added charms placed on his files. However, in Fudge's haste to confirm he is still in control of the ministry, he overlooked the Prison of Azkaban. Your loyal followers have convinced the Dementors to release the prisoners and rejoin us. They are on their way here, even as we speak. The prison has been emptied, once again, my Lord."

"Excellent," Voldemort laughed, his tone an evil hissing sigh. "It is merely a matter of time, before the ministry is mine, and Dumbledore bows at my feet."

"And what of Potter, my Lord?" Bellatrix asked, a hint of pleasure in her icy tone. "If he is allowed to return to Hogwarts, it is only a matter of time before he grows too strong for us to control. He is already stronger than any anticipated. If he continues..."

"I have other plans for Potter," the dark lord whispered, interrupting the woman's irritating chatter as he turned his back on Wormtail who silently began to crawl out of the room, past Harry. "Leave the boy to me."

Harry's eyes popped open with a start, the pain in his scar throbbing violently, forcing him to close his eyes again, tightly. He covered his head gently with his hand, rolling over on his bed with a moan of pain as he buried his head in his little pillow. What was Voldemort up to? Had the prison really been emptied? Where was he hiding, and why was it nightfall there, when it was midday here? One thought stood out among the many in his aching, throbbing mind. He had to tell Dumbledore what he had seen; he had to warn him of Voldemort coming after him. With shaky movements, Harry sat up on the edge of his bed, cradling his head in his hands. The pain seemed worse now, then it ever had been before. He had to get control over it; he had to contact Dumbledore, to warn him, but how? Hedwig hadn't returned from taking his letter to Moody yet, and there was no other way of communicating the news.

Thinking hard, Harry stood up on weak legs, forcing himself to walk to the window and look out, hoping to find his snowy owl in the skies above. Instead what he saw was his aunt and uncle reclining in lounge chairs on the patio below, while his over-sized cousin stuffed sandwich after sandwich in his mouth, from the chair across from his parents. Harry turned from the window. They were out of the house, he could easily sneak away and board the night bus, but he wouldn't be able to contact that for several more hours. He thought of stealing his uncle's car, but that wouldn't do any good, he'd get caught when the new alarm he had installed went off. Then he thought of his friends. If there was only some way of contacting them. He would need an owl to make contact with Ron, but Hermione was a Muggle, which meant she would have a telephone.

Quickly sliding under the bed and pulling open the floorboard he hid his secrets and candies in, he retrieved a small piece of parchment she had given him a few years back. Grabbing his invisibility cloak from his trunk and slipping silently out of his room, he hurried into his cousin's room next door, picking up the extension phone and dialing the number on the paper. He waited while the phone on the other end rang, once, twice, a third time. Just as Harry was about to give up, he heard a click and a man's voice say "hello?"

"Hermione Granger, please," Harry said softly, stepping to his cousin's window and looking down at the three still sitting below.

"Just a moment, please," the voice replied, and Harry listened as her name was called out in the background. A moment later and a familiar voice answered.

"Hello, this is Hermione Granger."

"Hermione, it's Harry," he said quietly.

"Harry! How wonderful of you to call. How are you? How on earth did you get the use of the phone, I thought your Uncle wouldn't allow you to use it? I was about to owl your birthday present to you, unless you think I could bring it to you in person? Would your aunt and uncle allow me to visit you? Honestly, it's as if you were a prisoner, instead of member of their family."

"Hermione, shut up, I have to talk to you and I haven't much time," Harry interrupted, hearing the soft gasp on the other end of the phone. "I had another vision of Voldemort and Hedwig isn't back from sending Moody my letter. I need you to contact Dumbledore and warn him. The prison has been emptied."

"What? The prison emptied? Are you sure?"

"I'm positive, now listen, contact Dumbledore and tell him about it. I heard Bellatrix tell Voldemort, that his followers had convinced the Dementors into rejoining him, and that the prison was emptied. I don't know when Hedwig will be back, but by then it may be too late. Voldemort said he was trying to find the spells Dumbledore uses as a defense. I think he's trying to get into the school. If that happens, we're all in danger. Can you do that for me, Hermione, please?"

"Of course, I'll owl him right away. But Harry," her voice was hesitant and Harry could tell she was chewing her lip. "Are you sure Voldemort wasn't using you again? I mean after everything he did last year..."

"I'm sure Hermione. This was different; I had control of my mind. I've been practicing my Occlumency lessons all summer and I've got hold of it."

"You said that before, Harry, remember? But you weren't telling the truth," she reminded him. Harry sighed deeply. She did have reason not to trust him, after he boldly lied to her about practicing his lessons at Hogwarts.

"This time is different, Hermione. I honestly have been practicing, and I know he wasn't aware of my presence. Please Hermione, it's very important you contact Dumbledore. He has to know what's happening."

"All right Harry, I believe you. I'll contact him right now. And Harry," she stated with another slight hesitation. "Please be careful."

"I will," he promised, hearing the door in the hallway downstairs close and heavy footsteps on the stairs heading his way. "And Hermione," he whispered softly, "Thank you." Harry hung up the phone quickly, slipping his cloak over his head and snatching up the piece of parchment with Hermione's phone number on it. He walked slowly toward the open door to Dudley's room, and had to flatten himself against the wall beside it, as his large cousin came bounding in through the door. Harry cleared the threshold, just in time for Dudley to swing it shut. With a deep sigh of relief, Harry quietly slipped into his own room, and eased the door shut behind him, returning his cloak to his trunk and the phone number to his secret hiding place under his bed.

If Hermione was able to get an owl to Dumbledore, he still wouldn't be able to receive it for at least a few hours yet, which meant there was nothing left to do, but wait. And waiting, was not one of Harry's strong points.

Pacing the floor, Harry found himself staring out his bedroom window, anticipating either an owl in response to Hermione's message, or Hedwig to return. Neither of which was happening soon enough. With a grunt of irritation, Harry flopped roughly to the bed; causing the heavy book he'd been reading relentlessly over the past two weeks, to hit him in the shin before landing with a thud to the floor. He picked it up, opening it and began to read it, as a thought came to his mind. If Hermione could see him now, knowing that he was actually reading during his summer holidays, she'd have nothing but praise for him, insisting that he should have started this new habit years ago. Ron, on the other hand, would probably call him mental and offer him a handful of chocolate frogs, while dragging him out to the field behind the burrow to practice his Quidditch game.

With a smile to warm his heart, he suddenly realized, he was not only lucky to have friends like Hermione and Ron, but he was very fortunate they were complete opposites. At least it gave his life a bit of stability.


Author notes: Please R/R and let me know if you want additional chapters, because I can keep writing until Draco becomes a brunette!