Harry Potter and the Soul Shatterer

Prologue: Brainstorm

For the third evening in a row, stormy skies were lashing at Little Whinging, Surrey.

Following more than a week of suffocating heat, the downpour should have been welcome by the local residents and, in the case of old Ms Figg, of Privet Drive, it was. For others, such as Ms Figg's neighbor, Mr Vernon Dursley (who would shake his head in disbelief every time he saw 'that old nut Figg' feeding the frogs hopping on her rainswept lawn), the flood was just another irritant in his otherwise neat and orderly life.

Yet this evening something more than just the rain was about to add to Mr. Dursley's woes -or so it seemed for the neighbors who were peeking through their windows at the solitary figure shuffling down the street. Must be that weird boy again, back from that boarding school of his, they thought.

Indeed it was. The figure in question was that of an adolescent boy, overall scrawny except for his rather large shoulders -sign that the newcomer indulged in sports. The boy in question was walking slowly dragging behind him a voluminous trunk, under which he had the good sense to put two small wheels. His left hand was holding what looked like a birdcage, even though it was hard to see what was in it, for it was covered with a leathery cloak. But the cage was indeed inhabited, for it regularly resounded with indignant hoots.

"Almost there, old girl. Hang on" muttered the boy, still walking. He paused for a moment and looked at the cage. "And don't you fuss, at least you're dry in there..."

He resumed his walk, but his pace slowed as he approached the number four: the Dursleys' home. He then stopped for a short moment and said, talking as much to himself as to the bird in the cage, "Here we are. Home. Well, sort of."

Leaving his trunk on the sidewalk, he walked slowly towards the front door, but then stopped again as he caught the glimpse of his own reflection in the living room's darkened windowpane. What he saw was not especially cheerful: his clothes were drenched, his usually untidy hair flattened on his head, covering the bolt-shaped scar on his forehead, and his green eyes bore a dull expression -as far as he could see, for his glasses were by then quite soaked.

His name was Harry Potter; he was a wizard, and a very unhappy one, something for which he could hardly be blamed. Orphaned barely a few months after his birth, he had spent the first eleven years of life in this very house, number four, Privet Drive, under the care of his mother's sister, his aunt Petunia, and her husband, Vernon. The term 'care' may seem out of place, however, for Harry was treated as a virtual slave, put in charge of all domestic chores, fed with leftovers, and clothed with rags discarded by his horribly spoiled cousin Dudley. And, as if it wasn't enough, his aunt and uncle kept heaping abuse on Harry's deceased parents, referring to them as 'freaks,' who 'came to a sticky end,' allegedly in a car crash.

It was only when he turned eleven that Harry learned the truth about his parents. Both were wizards, and were murdered by their mortal foe, the deadliest dark wizard to have risen in decades, Lord Voldemort. He also learned that they had left him an inheritance and had enlisted him at the renowned Hogwarts School of Magic, where, according to their wishes, he was to learn to become a full-fledged wizard himself, under the guidance of his parent's old headmaster, the illustrious Albus Dumbledore.

The next six years of Harry's life have been nothing short of magical. Not only he learned to master the marvels of witchcraft and sorcery but also discovered a secret world existing alongside that of the Muggles -the non-magic people. An enchanted world, where hippogriffs, goblins and ghosts coexisted with witches and wizards, and where flying broomsticks was a sport. But this world was also one torn by hatred and war, as the sheer command of such power -magic- inevitably led to a merciless struggle between those wizards who wanted a peaceful coexistence with the Muggles, and those who sought to enslave them. Or worse.

Voldemort was by far the most feared, and the most powerful of the Muggle-haters. He was also Harry's own sworn enemy, destined to kill him, or to be killed by him. And indeed the six years Harry spent at Hogwarts were years of deadly battles against Voldemort and his henchmen, the Death Eaters. While Harry himself survived every onslaught, he had to witness the murder of three people, two of whom were particularly close to him: his godfather and friend Sirius Black, and Dumbledore, his mentor, protector and spiritual father.

In the end, it was a heartbroken Harry who, following Dumbledore's burial, a few days earlier, took upon himself to seek out his nemesis and destroy him once and for all. It was the same Harry, who, out of fear for the safety of those dear to him, had decided to part with them, no matter how painful this could be.

He had bid farewell to Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, his inseparable school friends and fearless companions-in-arms. He had parted with Ron's younger sister, Ginny, the first girl he ever got seriously involved with, and who never gave up on him. And he had turned his back on Hogwarts, his only real home. From now on, he had to go on his own, to fulfill his quest, whatever this would turn out to be. Did he have the means to fulfill it? At this point, he did not know and, frankly, did not even care much.

All he knew was that he needed a sanctuary. Thanks to a spell conjured by Dumbledore as Harry was adopted by the Dursleys, number four Privet Drive was one of the few safe havens he could use to draw his battle plans. At least until he reached his legal age, which would be in a few weeks. In the meantime, he would have to endure -for another summer- the usual terms of endearment of his beloved Uncle and Aunt.

Wonder what sort of welcome I'll get this time, thought Harry bitterly. Let's see... How about "DON'T TELL ME HE'S BACK!" or "Listen Boy, from now on there will be no more of that nonsensical hocus-pocus in this house!" or "Better not have those dratty friends of yours around!" Or... But, as he was pondering, the door suddenly opened before he even had the time to knock. I guess I'll figure soon enough, he thought, not knowing how far he was from even guessing what was awaiting him...

(To be continued)