Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Pyromaniac Obsession with fire

Pyromaniac Obsession with fire

by tridentwatch 10 reviews

Harry is obssessed with burning things. Aren't we all?

Category: Harry Potter - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Action/Adventure - Characters: Harry - Published: 2006-05-22 - Updated: 2006-05-22 - 12951 words

One whopping of a chapter eh? Chapters 1 - 9. Enjoy!

Prologue - Introducing the pyromaniac.

Fire. How amazing this simple thing is. It looks so beautiful, almost like magic. Most people use fire for simple and useless things, like cooking or keeping warm. But for the few who can understand, who can see the true fire knows that this precious element is more. It is life itself, like a circle, going over and over and over and over...

I may not make much sense but oh how I love fire! I adore it. I feel jealous of it. I want to be fire, I want to live in fire, and I want to breathe fire. I want to grab the fire and possess it, simply to watch it burn, over and over and over and over and over....

You can't just say fire and expect it to come at your call. Believe me I have tried. Fire is like a living thing. It needs food, drink, and the inspiration. You need the right tools to call fire to you, tools like fuel. Paper, wood, plastic, foam, cardboard, grass, houses... You also need a catalyst. Oil, gasoline, petrol, sugar, wine... And of course the last and most import thing that you simply must have is the spark. A simple matchstick or a click of a lighter will do, but if you cant get that then try rubbing to small rocks of flint together.

Some people like cigars and cigarettes. Others like beer and alcohol. Some like women. Some like books and T.V and games. And others, the special few, the gifted ones, like fire. It keeps them alive, just like food and drink. It gives them inspiration, but it also ensnares them, like an addictive drug that you must have to stay sane. This is the story of one of those special few. It is not just a story but also a recording of actual events that happened. You muggles might not believe me. That's fine. You should be thankful you don't. For these things will give you nightmares. True nightmares. Hopefully about fire...

Chapter one - Life of the pyromaniac

"Not like that, you stupid freak!" said an ugly looking woman by the name of Petunia Dursley. She was currently watching her nephew, in plain disgust and hate, burn the bacon, like he did everyday. Harry just nodded and kept on staring at the fire under the pan. His aunt hitting him on the head with a metal spatula pulled him out of whatever freakish daydream he was having today.

"Ow, " young ten-year-old Harry cried in evident pain. He went back to cooking the bacon for his fat cousin Dudley and his even fatter balloon of an uncle. "Pay attention to Diddikums's breakfast now." Aunt Petunia said with a mean looking scowl on her face. Today was the first day of school for Harry and his cousin Dudley.

Just one more year and I would be able to go to Stonewall high where Dudley wouldn't be. No, special Dudley would go to a fancy school with his fancy clothes and his fancy friends, with a fancy breakfast and some fancy money to spend fancily on a fancy lunch where he could buy fancy chocolate and share (not likely) with his fancy fat friends who also had fancy things! Harry thought angrily.

He hated his cousin Dudley because he was jealous of him and his belongings. But that was nothing compared to how he absolutely loathed his aunt and uncle who make him sleep in a cupboard that they called a room, and made him do chores when he could have been outside making friends and playing. Huh, fat chance of that happening. With Dudley running around beating everyone who tried to talk to him and spreading rumors. Making friends is like Vernon being thin. Not in this lifetime! But he didn't need friends. They were for the weak, and he would be strong. Maybe that is why he never cried?

Harry thought his life was hard. He didn't have good clothes, good shoes, good food, friends, and good grades. He sucked at pretty much everything. If he got better grades than Dudley then his obese cousin would probably make him do his homework or beat him up. There wasn't much to do in his life. Everyday he had to wake up at 6:00 am in the morning and make breakfast for his loving family. He would have to clean the washroom so his oh so adoring family could use it. They would of course use all the hot water so Harry would have to shower with freezing ice-like droplets of water. Then Harry and Dudley would have to walk to school, usually with Dudley chasing Harry.

School was tough. It really was. The teachers thought Harry had ADD and was a complete retard. (They still couldn't quite figure out how he was passing in all his subjects.) Was it his fault he didn't give a shit about King Edmund the horse-fucker? No he used school time to take a nice nap. Break and lunch was the most miserable time though. His helpful aunt and uncle wouldn't let him take shit for lunch so he had to go hungry, and had to run like a monkey to get away from Dudley's infamous gang of hooligans. They would give up when the bell rang thankfully, so he could go back to his desk in the corner and rest.

After school for Harry usually meant a whole bunch of chores so aunt petunia could sit and watch TV on her skinny ass. He wasn't hit or starved by his aunt and uncle. They gave him food so people wouldn't think they were weird or unnatural. But only after he exhausted himself doing useless chores for lazy people.

Dinner was a noisy affair where Harry had to serve his family with food that he cooked. Then after the Dursleys were done he would get to eat some cheese, bread and a glass of milk. Simple items like that. After dinner meant more chores to do around the house to keep it spotless. The Dursleys never helped out. They just watched TV and sat around being lazy. Oh how Harry hated them. He despised them so much that his favorite daydreams consisted of planning how to kill them and get away with it.

Poison would be a good option but he wouldn't get away with it. How could he with Aunt Petunia watching him like a hawk throwing in the occasional insult. These insults didn't have any effect on him now. He would just gaze blankly at the person insulting him until they felt surprisingly annoyed and stupid. One of his few pleasures in the Dursley household.

While Harry was usually miserable most of the time he was used to it. He actually learned things. The skills that would help him later on. He learned how to work hard due to the intense chores. Running was natural to him as speed helped him avoid the bullies. He learned to be small and unnoticeable. Harry learned to have a "blank face" in seconds to annoy the people who insulted his clothes, shoes, lack of money, lack of friends, and his all time favorite: "your father was a useless bum on the streets who married a whore and met with an accident!" While his teachers thought he was a dolt, he did pass most of his tests and homework. How you might ask? Why, by observing! Cheating is much easier than people think. You just have to lean your head slightly so you could see other people's test papers in an exam. He didn't learn much but he did learn how to write fast and copy.

Young Harry was used to being miserable but there were times in life when he was truly happy. These happy moments were usually at night where he would light Uncle Vernon's lighter and stare into the flame, entranced. Uncle Vernon never did notice where his lighters went. He kept having to buy new ones to light his smelly cigars. One night, while staring at the flame longingly he suddenly thought of a brilliant plan. It was a marvelous plan. A truly fantastic plan to improve his sad and lonely life. A plan that would undoubtedly let him commit a murder and make it look like an accident.

If the Dursleys saw his smirk that night they wouldn't have slept so comfortably...

Chapter 2 - The most dangerous plan

The plan. His plan for freedom. Harry pondered on this almost every second. He was obsessed with it. His chores become almost bearable due to his daydreaming of the perfect plan. The plan?

When Harry was looking into the fire that was coming out of the purple lighter in his little cupboard the stupidest idea came to him, like a sudden wave in the middle of a tsunami. Fire. That was his answer to all his problems! He could use fire to burn the house.

Harry couldn't just light the entire house while his family was asleep. He would get caught and throne in an insane asylum. No, he had to do it right. He had to do it perfectly.

No mistakes, just perfection. Those words became his mantra. Harry whispered it to himself everyday for weeks. It was ok. Just a couple more days left until he was free.

Guilty thoughts never came to him. Why should it? He hated his family. He hated them with all his heart. What did they ever do for him? They would always be unfair to him and even made him live in a cupboard, like a dog. He held no remorse in his future actions to get rid of the Dursleys. Got to look out for the number one! Harry usually thought these thoughts. Sure he was selfish, why wouldn't he be. He never had good stuff and he sure wanted them. If the Dursleys' had treated him differently maybe Harry would have turned out different.

No mistakes, just perfection.

No mistakes just perfection.

No mistakes, just perfection.

No mistakes just perfection.

No mistakes, just perfection.

No mistakes just perfection.

Harry kept repeating this mantra in his head as he mowed the lawn with a rusty mechanical lawn mower. He couldn't do this impulsively. The cops were smart. They could figure stuff out. No, Harry planned and schemed. He was patient by nature; you would have to be to survive in the Dursley household living as a slave.

The plan. It was simple, yet brilliant. First he would find the can of oil that his uncle kept for fine-tuning his car. He had to put it in strategic places such as the stove, the hot water tank, and of coarse the plumbing pipe that ran through his cupboard under the stairs. The wood would burn, albeit slowly, but it would burn enough.

He found the oil can where his fat uncle usually kept it, in a small closet by the door. Good it can stay there. Lighter, he had. Good. Now he had to figure out a way he could burn the house down and make it look like a gas leak. He must not be caught. No mistakes, just perfection.

He decided to implement his plan in stages. Stage one was where he stole his uncle's house keys. Stage two was where he acted like a spoilt brat in the afternoon and ran away to the park. Stage three was where he would enter the house through the back door, silently, in the middle of the night. Stage four involved the spreading of the oil in strategic places. Stage 5 was where he would light a small log from the fireplace and light the house. Then of coarse the final stage six. That was the hardest one. He had to convince everyone that he had nothing to do with the fire. After lighting the couch and the trails of oil that led to the stove and hot water tank he would have to run to Mrs. Figg's house and act like a nervous and scared kid.

But as it always is, dangerous plans are easier said then done. Harry would have to make sure the Dursleys don't wake, and if one of them did, even for a glass of water he would be in huge amounts of trouble. But how? How could he make sure the Dursleys stayed asleep? How? How? How? The question racked at Harry's brain, and remained unanswered. Sleeping pills in their food? Nope, he didn't have any. But what else could he use? Going on with his plan with this dangerous flaw was against his mantra that he worshipped almost religiously. No mistakes, just perfection.

Even the most perfect plans have their flaws. Harry's plan was no different. After days of thinking and pondering he concluded that he would have to just pray for good luck. At that thought he scowled. He always believed that he could make his own luck, and everything he got should be earned and achieved. And praying? He tried it. Did god save him when he was starving and exhausted lying in his tiny cupboard? Hell no.

There were in fact many flaws in young Harry's plan. What if the neighbors woke up and called the fire fighters? What if the Dursleys woke up and ran outside the house? And Dumbledore's blood wards. Would they protect the Dursleys? Of course the naïve young boy didn't know that. It was quite amazing that he could even come up with a plan like he did. But if he knew those flaws in his plan, he sure as hell wouldn't have tried something that foolish.

A dark spirit lay floatingly in the air inside a dark musky cave located in the rocky mountains of Albania. How could this have happened? How? A silly baby defeated me! What happened exactly? The dark spirit, who went by the name Lord Voldemort, pondered. He thought many times about this topic and had made some improvements. At least he didn't go into fits of rage when he thought about this.
What did this dark spirit do exactly while Harry lived in the Dursley household growing up? Well, what could he do? It took so much magical energy to move, and possessing anything other than a snake, or bigger than the size of a rat hurt like a cruciatus curse. There wasn't much he could do. He possessed an animal, ate food with it and slept, and left when the animal died in a few weeks. The cave was warm, and protected him from the harsh winds.

Damn! Why did I come to this frozen mountain land. I should have taken my chances with Dumbledore! Argh! Another headache... Not again. If the dark spirit could scream he would be ruining his vocal cords. He was afflicted with these headaches quite often. It was the regular. But when he wasn't he thought. And thought. And thought some more. Voldemort quickly realized how arrogant he had been. Walking up to Godric's Hollow like he owned the place! Why didn't he think? There could have been a trap set for him! Although there wasn't he was still tricked into that blood sacrifice by Lilly Potter.

If Salazar could see me now! His heir, a mere spirit! And I am likely to stay that way. Where are my death eaters? Where are my loyal friends? Why aren't they looking for me? Wouldn't they know to look for me in Albania where my old base was located? Ah the good old days, when hit wizards were out for my blood and I was just a young teenager doing dark rituals that would have made Dumbledore's beard curl!

I had been so utterly foolish! Instead of spreading terror, I should have just assassinated the ministry's leaders. Hell, I could have had a teacher infiltrate Hogwarts and assassinate the headmaster! Bloody hell, the pain... I almost wish I were dead. Almost. I have to find someone that I can possess. But I can't force them into it, not without suffering...

These people will pay. Nobody tries to make Voldemort look foolish. Bah, stop thinking those thoughts! Stop being an arrogant prick like that Lucious! Lucious Malfoy... I actually thought him loyal. No, nobody is loyal. Everyone considers everyone tools. I just have to come out the victor, and for that I have the perfect plan...

If Dumbledore could have heard these thoughts maybe he would have reconsidered the prophecy and go after Tom. But that was unlikely. No, Dumbledore was currently sleeping in his nice little bed in Hogwarts. Dreaming. Dreaming about the good old days where he used to be young, headstrong, and famous. People had worshipped him like a god, after he destroyed Grindlewauld. How he longed for those days again. Now people thought of him as an old grandfather. Powerful, yes. Senile, probably. Scapegoat when things go wrong, of course. But Dumbledore had a plan, a plan that would have people see him as a hero again. People would worship him again, just like a god. All because of his perfect plan...

Chapter Three - The fall of the Dursleys

Holy shit! Harry thought, his heart hammering away in his ribcage. He was scared. He was freaked out. He cursed to himself, and started panicking, despite knowing that he had to stay calm. Everything went according to plan, until Dudley showed up at the staircase while Harry was about to leave.

"What the hell are you doing? Bloody hell! What happened? What did you do, you crazy freak!" Dudley was hysteric. This was like one of those horror movies, where an evil kid burns his nice family's house down. "Mom. Dad. Help!" Dudley cried out.

Vernon was asleep snoring loudly, when Petunia heard the screams. She woke up out of bed and started shaking her fat blob of a husband. "Vernon, wake up. Something happened, Dudley sounds hurt!" Petunia was shrieking at her sleeping husband's back.

"Huh, what?" Vernon woke up groggily. Soon he was wide-awake as he recognized this emergency. They rushed out of the bedroom and onto the staircase where the bumped into Dudley.

Harry thought frantically. What am I going to do? Oh my god! Shit. I am screwed. He decided to not risk being suspicious. "Dudley, there's a gas leak or something. I woke up feeling all hot and the house is on fire! Common Dudley we have to get out of here." Harry shouted at his cousin. Said cousin came tumbling down the stairs, followed by Petunia and Vernon on top of him. Harry ran out of the house and went to the old lady's house next door. What's her name, Mrs. Figg? I have got to go there! Harry knocked hard on her door.

Mrs. Figg was sleeping nicely when she heard the knocking. She woke up and lazily looked out the window only to see the Dursley house burning down. The flames were bright red and looked like an angry demon. She went down the stairs to her door and opened it hurriedly. I must find out if Harry's safe. Oh I need Dumbledore. She didn't have to worry, as Harry was already at the door looking strangely calm and peaceful. When he caught sight of Mrs. Figg though he did a complete 180-degree turn and looked frantic and scared.

"Mrs. Figg, you have to help me. There was some gas leak or something in my house and the house is on fire. My family is still inside. We have to help them!" Secretly Harry cursed at his bad luck. Why did Dudley have to wake up? Oh well, I hope they are all dead or else I am going to get a huge beating or something. They will probably chuck me into a psycho school.

The neighbors were starting to wake up. Screams were heard all around the neighborhood as they caught sight of the flames surrounding Dursley household. Unfortunately the flames didn't stay in the Dursley household. They spread as the howling wind carried it to other houses. Soon the house to the right of the Dursley house was up in flames, and the house to the left too. The flames were spreading like nothing ever seen before.

Harry stared. And hoped. He hoped the Dursleys weren't coming out of the house. Maybe they tripped and were stuck? He couldn't here much because of all the noise that the whole neighborhood was screaming their head off. Harry could here the sirens shrieking in the distance.

One minute up, still no Dursleys.

Two minutes up, still no Dursleys.

Three minutes gone by. Yes, no Dursleys!

They are dead. Please let them be dead.

Common die already.

Four minutes past, no Dursleys.

Five minutes.

Ten minutes.

An hour.

Harry just stood there watching as the fire fighters were washing the flames away with their water hoses. A cop started to walk towards him. He smiled kindly, and felt immensely sorry for this young boy who just lost his family. Harry knew that he would have to act sad. He had some fake tears coming out of his eyes, and his head was downcast, making him the perfect picture of sadness and despair.

"Hello, son. Come with me to the car and I will get you some hot chocolate. How's that eh?" The cop said with a Canadian accent as he put his arm around Harry's shoulders trying to lead him away from just blankly staring into the dying flames.

Unbeknownst to the cop, Harry was, in reality, hypnotized by the flames. They were like magic and gave him a deep feeling of peace. He turned away with great difficulty and walked slowly to the cop's car. He took the cup of hot chocolate from the cop, not saying a word or acknowledging his presence.

The cop left and went around asking the neighbors who Harry was and if he had any relatives. He didn't get much information, so he decided to take Harry to the station, where he could find some files on the boy. If Harry didn't have any relatives, he would have to go to a local orphanage where he would hopefully be adopted.

Things were finally looking up to young Harry. He felt at peace after watching the demise of the people he hated the most. But he was also confused. What was going to happen now? What would he do with his life? The orphanage gave him endless opportunities, sure. But Harry desired more. He wanted riches, like the filthy rich businessmen on TV. He wanted control, like the generals who led armies into battle that he read about in books when nobody was looking. Leaders like Napoleon, Hitler, Caesar, and more. Harry wanted to be great. To prove that he wasn't a worthless slob, that he could do anything he wanted. He wanted to prove that he didn't need anybody's help to achieve greatness. No, he wanted to do it on his own. And he sure would too.
Voldemort watched Harry through the connection through the scar link they both shared. He discovered the scarlink about ten minutes ago when he felt something that wasn't his own. He deduced that it was a connection from Harry Potter and himself. He was curious. Extremely so. What did harry do? He killed his own relatives? Voldemort could practically feel the cunning and evilness that Harry exhibited while he successfully murdered his last remaining family. This changes things. Many things. But no matter, for Lord Voldemort will succeed.

Now it was time for him to look for a host to possess. The local village at the base of the mountains had few people living in it. There might have been a hundred or so, but the town was diminishing, and slowly becoming abandoned. Voldemort knew he would have to act fast to implement his plan.

Chapter 4 - Voldemort's daring adventure

Albania was a small country. It was filled with icy mountains. The weather in the isolated mountains was usually cold, with rainstorms and bone freezing wind. And that was in the summer. In the winter snowstorms and avalanches were commonplace. This tiny country consisted of 4 provinces. They each had a few cities but were not too crowded. Who would want to live in Albania of all places?

Of course Lord Voldemort knew all that. When he was young, he attempted numerous dark rituals, which usually involved human sacrifices. When the British ministry at the time heard word of this they tried to stop him by sending aurors and hit wizards after him. Needless to say, they never returned. But being chased by hundreds of law enforcement officers becomes tiring after a while, and thus Lord Voldemort decided to keep a low profile by moving to Albania. In this isolated country he could study the dark arts and whatever he wanted in peace.

Moving to Albania was easy. All he had to do was shrink all his books and possessions inside his rickety old trunk, imperio a ship captain into sailing to Albania and viola! The hard part was actually setting up a base. When Voldemort first came to Albania his first thought was "What the hell am I doing here?" After a while and a few imperio curses later he got used to it.

Finding a place of residence was ridiculously easy. All he had to do was knock on a door of a house, which happened to be a rich looking mansion, and imperio the muggle who opened it. He of course would also imperio the muggles who lived there and command them to providing him with the basics: foods, drink, rest, sex, etc... Imperio, the answer to life's problems.

He had gotten most of his dark arts books from shifty book dealers and the small library in the chamber of secrets, conveniently located at Hogwarts. The small library, if it could be called that, had only one small shelf with books. Those books being the rarest of dark books. There was nothing of value left in the chamber of secrets, since Voldemort stole everything before leaving Hogwarts. Those books that he had contained a gem of forbidden knowledge, from blood sacrifices, horocruxes, and obviously the Unforgivable curses. Those books were what made him powerful. Those books helped him collect his first followers, a local gang in Albania.

He was taking a walk down the street one day for some fresh air after being inside his mansion cooped up for a while. He walked right past an alley when a bunch of young men who looked no more than twenty years old came out and surrounded him. They looked mean and had unshaved beards and sharp looking knives. Voldemort knew he was in a bit of trouble but nothing a bit of magic couldn't solve.

Even though this gang was a bunch of disgusting muggles they were extremely vulnerable to Voldemort's powerful imperio curses. As such they were his first followers used usually to collect virgin girls for his despicable human sacrifices. He collected many more followers over the years, and had grown much in power, yet he was still brought down by a mere baby. That doesn't do much for someone with an ego bigger than the sun. No doubt Voldemort learned many things because of that experience.

Voldemort couldn't stay a spirit for too long in this frigid cave on the mountain covered with ice and snow. It was a cloudless morning and Voldemort had awoken just before the sunrise. He was slowly going weaker and weaker. It was many months before he had possessed a snake to feed of its life force to rejuvenate himself. If he grew too weak he wouldn't die due to the horocruxes but he would not be able to think or move. He would be in an eternal sleep or something like it.

Voldemort wasn't really a spirit. He was in more of a half solid half-gas state thus qualifying enough to be a spirit. His plan to get to the village was easy. Easier said than done that is. All he would have to do was get out of the cave and jump off the mountain. Since the village was at the base of the mountain he would land right in the middle of it. Then he would have to find a snake's body to possess and have him slither onto a ship, hopefully headed for England.

There were a few problems though. Voldemort, though being a cunning and supposedly smart dark lord didn't count on the wind pushing him ten miles away from the village. Luckily for him he landed right on top of a snake, which was in the middle of a forest, and proceeded to possess the life out of it. Exhausting the snake to the brink of death by pushing it to the town was brutal. The snake itself was a green one with yellow triangle patterns on it and extremely tiny, almost unnoticeable. Although small it could go at remarkable speeds so it didn't take too long for Voldemort/snake to reach the town.

It did not take too long to find some people talking about in a pub. Their trucks was parked at the back of said pub. The pub itself was small and dirty, its sign faded and dull. The wooden door looked broken and moldy, undoubtedly on the verge of breaking. It creaked as it opened and a tall man in a dirty coat with muddy boots and brown army pants marched out. He looked strong and confident of himself. He went over to his white truck, which was brownish now due to the mud stains. Voldemort followed.

As soon as the man opened the door of his truck Voldemort in the snake's body slid up the tires and into the door. He went to the back of the driver's seat and curled up in a corner. Voldemort did not know where the truck was going but hoped in the best and prayed for some good luck. He scowled at that thought. The once feared dark lord did not believe in luck and coincidence, no he made his own luck.

Voldemort could not believe his good luck. The man who drove the truck went straight to the harbor where the ships were located to pick up his wife who worked at a local store. When Voldemort saw his chance he slithered out of the truck's open window and onto a harbor. Albania had a rich fishing industry and that was the only thing that kept Albanians from completely deserting said country. Because of this there were undoubtedly many ships sailing near and around the small country. He picked some random ship out of the many in the harbor and slithered into it. Voldemort had many plans for Harry Potter. This was his big break. He only wondered why he didn't do this sooner. Oh wait, I know why. Dumbledore probably had his filthy order of the bird looking for me. What Voldemort did not know was that this particular ship was heading to America.

While this was going on, somewhere in Scotland an old castle by the name of Hogwarts resided. There a phoenix named Fawkes was perched on his elegant looking perch. While Voldemort was making a daring escape, this very phoenix was scratching his ass with a sharp talon.

Chapter 6 - What's going on in the world today?

The majestic castle of Hogwarts, located in Scotland, was used as a school for witchcraft and wizardry. This humongous castle had seven floors, even though only fifteen rooms were needed for each class. What happened to the rest of the space? Secrets. Funny secrets, dark secrets, shifty secrets, and even more secrets; secret passageways, secret chambers, storage rooms, and more things that people have never found out.

Nobody except Dumbledore knew the secrets. The headmaster of Hogwarts was an old man, 150 years old. He had loads of spare time. Usually this was spent exploring the castle, searching for secret passages and anything entertaining. Truth be told, Dumbledore was bored as hell. He had nothing to do. His deputy headmistress, professor Macgonnal, did all the paperwork. She ran the school. The headmaster just went down to the meals, smiled a bit and waved. She dealt with all the problems. So he had nothing to do. Voldemort kept him busy for years, and he had never felt more alive when he was in the war, scheming about schemes within schemes. The war was like a chess game between Voldemort and himself. Now that Voldemort was gone Dumbledore was bored.

So he explored the castle under an invisibility spell. After ten years of exploring he pretty much mapped the entire castle of Hogwarts inside his head. He knew more passageways than Filch, the caretakers, or the Weasley twins, resident prankers. He probably knew more secrets about the castle than the infamous marauders.

Now Dumbledore sat in his elegant chair inside his office that was filled with expensive trinkets and various items. He was sucking on a lemon drop and thinking about his favorite topic: Harry Potter. Also known as the boy-who-lived. Dumbledore's ambitions weren't power. He already had that, as the head of Wizengamot and a highly respected wizard. He did not want to kill Voldemort, he wanted to play with him, duel him, and have a war with him.

Why? What Dumbledore craved was entertainment. He desired it. He was sick of being bored all day with nothing to do. When Voldemort came he felt as alive as when he was fighting Grindlewauld. He felt important. He felt wanted. He didn't feel like he was an old man with nothing to do, he felt like a god. The way people looked up to him in war times with those eyes, the worshipping eyes. It sent a thrill inside his heart every time he saw that. And nowadays that wasn't very often.

Being old with nothing to do get so boring that a person would do anything to get out of the old routine. Ha, age! Voldemort still hasn't discovered the secret to immortality. Hehe, oh how he would kill for the information I have. Too bad he is half dead now, oh he thinks I don't know he is in Albania, he thinks I am just a goody goody old coot. Well boo to him. Hehehehehe. Dumbledore was also a bit senile at times. Being bored will do that to you.

But what was he thinking about the secret of immortality? It was not a big secret. Simple really, just get the recipe for the Philosopher's stone from Flamel, make it and become immortal. Simple. He already did that. He had the stone, and he sure as hell didn't want to die soon. The stone made him feel young, made him look young, but that wouldn't do. If he let Flamel find out he would be screwed. Flamel was the one who provided the financial support during the first war. No, he had to stay on good terms with the alchemist. So Dumbledore applied glamour spells to make himself look older.


We had been brewing potions for years now trying to recreate the philosopher's stone. I still didn't understand why he wouldn't just tell me the bloody secret. I know he has it; he is six hundred years old for god's sakes. Nobody can live that long.

At night when Flamel was asleep I went looking. Every night I looked for his secret recipe, and as soon as I find it I would copy it and ditch Flamel for good. Stupid old coot thinks I need to learn how to make it by myself, or something as inane as that. What would he know? He is probably senile. Why the hell should I waste my time recreating the stone when Nicholas can just give it to me?

But this night is going to be special I can feel it. Tonight is my night. Tonight I will find the recipe. How? I slipped a sleeping potion in Flamel's food. Lets see how he handles that. I am going to search and trash this place, and if I don't find it I am going to have to use some drastic measures. Maybe Veriteserum, or imperio.
End Flashback

Needless to say, a vial of Veriteserum and a nice obliviate later he got the copy of the recipe for the philosopher's stone. Dumbledore brewed it a long time ago and he regularly drank the exiler of life, every Sunday with a pinch of honey and milk.

The first war was so fun for Dumbledore. From creating the order, converting Snape to become a spy and dueling the Dark Lord once in a while kept him extremely entertained. He loved the thrill of fighting with a genius like Voldemort, and winning too. But now that he was incapacitated in Albania Dumbledore was bored. He was looking forward to next year where Harry Potter would attend the school.

What to do, what to do! Manipulate Harry into being a goody-goody little golden boy or turn him into the next Dark Lord? What to do? So many decisions, so much time. Dumbledore thought, smirking in a twisted way that would scar his students for life if they saw it.
The stupid snake was dead! It didn't even last for two days. Now what to do? I could try to possess a weak willed muggle but when I leave the magical backlash would destroy me. Voldemort thought; he was extremely angry at the snake, at the world, at his stupid life.

He was on the ship "Anta Marie" which was going to San Francisco, America. But he didn't know that. He thought this rickety old ship was going to England. As soon as he landed in England he was planning on going straight to Malfoy manor and giving him a piece of his mind.

Voldemort slowly floated to the cabin at the bottom of the ship where the machinery and gas tank was located. He was hoping to find a couple of rats there to suck the life out of them. When he passed the passengers on the ship they shuddered but didn't notice him. Strange, that is. Am I invisible?

Using some exhausting wandless magic he opened the door to the cabin, stepping onto the creaking old stairs. He felt the musky stale air hit his face as he walked downwards. Strange noises could be heard coming from the bottom of the stairs. That was the machinery working to propel the ship forwards.

Voldemort was amazed despite himself as he looked around, seeing the complicated machines. He was naturally curious as he was an avid learner and wondered how these machines worked. Bah, why am I thinking these things. Muggles are stupid, disgusting, fat, and filthy. They are completely worthless; when I finally rule the wizarding world I will turn them into slaves and make them fight amongst themselves in an arena. The survivors would be eaten by a bunch of man-eating lions, of course. Voldemort snapped himself out of his morbid though amusing thoughts.

Now its time to find some rats. Here ratty ratty ratty. Hmm... I should remember to use that on Wormtail. Voldemort looked around, but couldn't see much as it was dark and the small cabin was filled with spider webs. Damn, I should have left the door open for light. If only I had a wand; then I could magic myself to England, kill everyone, and piss on their graves.

The most feared dark lord was pissed as hell. He was searching for hours and still couldn't find an animal to possess. Sure there were a lot of cockroaches but they only lasted for an hour or so. Voldemort sighed. He supposed he could survive on mere cockroaches. There were a lot of them after all. But still, cockroaches? How humiliating!
Harry sighed. The cop, whose name was Rob Laslow, couldn't stop talking. Harry now knew more about his life than he knew about his own.

"Blah blah blah blah blah and some more blah blah blah," Rob said. Harry was trying to tune him out but with his annoying voice it was practically impossible. They were currently sitting in a cop car, while Rob was driving Harry to the local orphanage with the loud sirens on and talked and chatted and talked some more. Couldn't he tell that Harry wasn't interested? Did Harry have to spell it out for him?

The orphanage they were going to was called St. Paul and was supposed to be the best one in Surrey. It had its own school inside, with counselors and psychologists who tried to psychoanalyze the orphans. The orphanage was actually a huge complex, which had about five different buildings, as Rob told Harry a million times. St. Paul named after a saint, obviously, was pretty famous for taking in kids who were traumatized by their family's death. The five buildings were the girls' dorm, the boys' dorm, the fitness center that had a swimming pool inside, the school, and the staff building.

The staff consisted of an army of cleaning ladies, school instructors, a fitness and health instructor, the three counselors and a psychologist. This psychologist was one of the best in the country, having treated patients from around the world. He was supposedly retired, but he had a few connections and got a job at the orphanage with high pay, good luxury, and a nice apartment inside the staff building. The prime minister himself funded this orphanage in order to make himself look good in the public's eyes. All in all a good step up from the Dursley household.

Harry looked so sad sitting in the car seat with his head down in Rob's eyes; although he didn't know that Harry was just acting. He had to pull some strings and make a couple of important calls to get Harry inside this expensive orphanage, because he couldn't let the boy live in some downtrodden old building they called a children's housing center. No, not for Harry. He just watched his only family die for god's sakes. This kid needed therapy!

And that was exactly what Harry would get, whether he liked it or not.

Chapter six - Psychoanalyzing the pyromaniac

From the diaries of Brian Adler, resident psychologist at St.Paul's world class orphanage.

September 13, 1990

A new kid came to the orphanage today. He never spoke and had a blank face on. Nothing shocked him at all. We showed him his room, his dorm mates, the compound, and we got nothing. No reaction whatsoever. This is usually the case when the child is in denial. But I don't think so. Fifty years of psychology makes me a good judge of character, and this kid is pretty suspicious.

September 20, 1990

His name is Harry Potter, he is ten years old, and he watched his relatives die. There is not much that I know about him as he is unusually quiet. I asked the instructors about Harry and they said he never talks much, and stays in a corner always watching, like an outsider. I had him come down to my office for an hour of therapy, to get over his family's death and I was shocked. He had no reaction whatsoever. Harry actually looked bored, and indifferent as if he did not care.

Usually children in denial deny that a particular event happened. This kid doesn't even care. I am starting to think he is mentally retarded but his schoolwork is perfect. He aces every test, and I know he reads a lot in his spare time.

October 1, 1990

Watching and trying to understand Harry has become a hobby of mine. He is an enigma, one minute he is bold and will talk to his peers, and the next he suddenly appears cold and indifferent. What is going on in this kid's mind? In all my years of treating patients I have had only one case like this, a kid named Tom Riddle.

I will try to contact Tom Riddle and see how he is doing. Maybe he can provide some clues and insight onto Harry's strange behavior.

October 8, 1990

I have been trying for a week to reach Mr. Riddle, yet he seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth. There are no records of him, I know. I checked everywhere, even the police department. They gave me funny looks, and thought I was crazy or something. How dare they tell me to piss of? As for Harry, he has discovered the fitness center and spends about an hour or two there all alone, swimming or doing some exercise or another.

October 15, 1990

Jimmy, our resident fitness instructor has taken a liking to the small kid. He wants him to join a martial arts program, even though they are restricted for twelve years and older. But Jimmy says Harry is extremely fit, if a little bit skinny, but I still have my doubts. Maybe excercise is Harry's way of dealing with his family's death? I gave up trying to have Harry over to my office for therapy. He just stares blankly at the wall and ignores me.

December 16, 1990

I know I haven't updated this diary for a while. But I found something interesting about Harry yesterday. It was my turn to inspect the dorm building and make sure everyone was asleep at his or her bedtime. When I got to Harry's room, instead of knocking like every staff member and orphan is supposed to, I opened the door. There Harry was sitting on his bed in the darkness, with a lighter in his hand, and just staring into the flames. I slowly closed the door and continued on, so I don't think Harry noticed me. To tell you the truth, he gives me the heebie-jeebies. When I saw Harry's face when he was looking at the fire it was like he was worshipping a god. He had this intense look of peace and satisfaction on his face. Kind of like the one Tom had after we found out that a snake had bitten a kid that bullied him, scary...

In the morning I talked to him about it and confiscated his lighter and had the staff search his room for any flamable objects. You can never be too careful!

January 3, 1991

The similarities between Tom and Harry are astounding. I still haven't managed to locate Tom Riddle, but I am not going to give up yet. I am looking everywhere for anything related to Tom. Any piece of information. I know he was an orphan, but there are thousands of orphanages in the UK. I mailed at least a hundred of those asking for information. I got zilch so far.

Anyways, I decided to make a chart to compare Tom Riddle and Harry Potter. Maybe they are related?

Tom Riddle

1. Likes to be alone

2. Likes to read

3. Loves snakes?

4. Extremely smart, he got perfect grades after all

5. Disappeared every year to boarding school somewhere, and came back for summer.

6. Sometimes emotionless, sometimes talkative. Can switch in seconds.

7. Loved to swim, in a lake near his boarding school he told me

8. Had no friends

Harry Potter

1. Likes to be alone - same as Tom

2. Likes to read - same as Tom

3. Likes to watch fire in bedroom? - Don't know

4. Perfect grades - Just like Tom

5. Tom disappeared to a boarding school sometime when he was eleven years old. Maybe this is going to be the same as Harry?

6. Sometimes emotionless, sometimes talkative, can switch in seconds - Uncannily like Tom

7. Loves martial arts, Jimmy talks about his progress all the time - Didn't Tom like exercise too?

8. Has no friends - Like Tom, he has acquaintances, but not friends.

I am convinced they are somehow related. When I visited the orphanage where Tom was, that was when I just got my degree; I noticed how unusual Tom could be. Not like the other kids at all. Harry is just as unusual. Maybe it's a new kind of syndrome? They might seem normal, but if a person looks closely they will notice that NO ten year old is that smart. No ten year old is that good at masking emotions. I will be famous if I could discover it and write a book about it. Now however I need to write to every orphanage I know of and ask for Tom Riddle.

March 18, 1991

I have officially contacted every orphanage in existence. Not one of them had any information on Tom Riddle. So now I am going to search for orphanages that operated fifty years ago but are closed down now. Maybe I will contact boarding schools too, and see if they have any information. So much work, so little insight about Harry...

Harry is doing extremely well. He has opened up to his peers a bit. What's strange is that they follow him around like dogs. Hmm... Harry has his own group of friends now, more like followers. Just the other day I noticed someone trying to insult Harry, an older kid. Suddenly he looked like he had diarrhea and actually farted in front of Harry. How embarrassing must that be for the older kid? Now that I notice it, that's what happens all the time when someone tries to bully or insult Harry.

April 15, 1991

Harry Potter is an enigma, a strange puzzle, where the more clues you find, the more mysteries there are. I invited him to my office again, to try and ask him about his home life with the Dursleys, and about how he is fitting in here. We ended up talking about me. Never once did I get an answer to my questions. And only now that I am sitting on my bed I notice how successful he was at evading my questions. Honestly, I am supposed to be the psychologist here, not him!

As for Tom Riddle, I haven't made any progress as of yet, but I am not going to give up. I love a good mystery. And this is a grand one.

July 31, 1991

Still no progress on Tom Riddle. But a strange thing happened today. An old man came, dressed in a pink suit, and asked for Harry. He told us that Harry would be going to some boarding school later in the year. After filling out the necessary paperwork the headmaster of the school took Harry to London to buy his school supplies.

He has a big trunk, filled with all his things I suppose. Nowadays he locks himself into his room and does something in there, probably reading. One of the kids told me strange lights came from Harry's room. I was naturally sceptical. How could strange lights come from his room?

Usually he keeps his room locked, even at night. His instructors are pretty worried. He doesn't pay attention in his classes anymore, and reads fantasy books, about spells and other riddiculous rubbish.

September 1, 1991

Harry went to his boarding school today. I know, I dropped him off at King Cross station. He will be back next summer he says. But I don't believe him. Not at all. But I know not to mess in this secret government business. The desk lady still hasn't recovered and is sprouting some gibberish or another, sounding suspiciously like a baby.

I am hoping he does come back next summer. Despite myself I am curious. But I can wait. I can use this time to find out about Ridde. Tom Riddle. The boy who was extremely strange...

Chapter 7 - Dumbledore's hunt

Dumbledore sighed in his office. He just got a floo call from Arabella Fig, a member of the secret Order of the Phoenix, which operated during Voldemort's first war. Arabella basically the Dursley house got burnt down and Harry was taken by a muggle auror, a "police officer". It was September 13th today, his birthday. He was just enjoying some muggle alcoholic beverages, watching the golden sunset over the lake from his window in his bedroom, when he got interrupted. Of course it was of high importance, so he supposed he could excuse it.

With a sigh that showed how bored he was he got up, and changed from his purple robes into a nice looking pink muggle suit, black sunglasses, and a golden chain on his neck and a silver watch with diamonds on it that he saw a muggle wear one day when he was shopping in London. He supposed all muggle men wore this attire, so he bought a whole wardrobe of it. Dumbledore walked out of his spaciously luxurious apartment, into his office, and outside the fearsome gargoyles that protected the entrance right into his deputy, professor McGonnal.

"Oh Albus, I wanted to talk to you about Severus. You wont believe the number of complains I have had from the first years. This is getting ridiculous. Every year my students complain and you don't do anything! It's preposterous, you have to do something!" Professor McGonnal ranted on to Albus, who tuned her out.

The headmaster searched his pocket for a nice lemon drop and when he found one he started to unwrap it. Professor McGonnal just kept on ranting and didn't notice Albus's lack of reaction. Albus just twinkled merrily while sucking on one of his sour lemon drops.

"Excuse me Minerva, but a situation has just come up that I simply must attend to. Why don't we continue this conversation tomorrow in the staff room, hmm?" Albus calmly replied to his deputy headmistress and walked past her heading to the dungeons. He was headed to his potion master Severus Snape's personal lab.

As he entered the dark and creepy looking potions lab, where he found Snape brewing a nasty green potion, no doubt for the Hospital wing.

"Severus I need your help. An emergency situation has come up with Harry Potter. We need to put some new wards up." Dumbledore asked humbly. He was considering leaving Harry Potter unwarded, but then he remembered the prophecy.
When Severus and Albus reached Privet drive, it was midnight at least. The air smelt burnt and the entire block looked like a hellhole. They went up to Arabella Figg's house, and knocked loudly on the door.

"Oh, Albus your here. It was horrible! The Dursleys were burnt alive! Burnt Albus. And poor Harry, he watched it all happen. I tried to get him to stay at my house but the muggle aurors took him away. They said they were going to an orphanage or something!" Figg was ranting on and on, which hurt Albus's ears.

"Calm down Arabella, we will find him. Do you know how the fire started?" Dumbledore asked kindly and tried to be reassuring. Inside though he was worried. He had planned to turn Harry into a perfect poster boy to fight Voldemort, due to the prophecy. Dumbledore loved to be in control of everything. He hated chaos and things he had no control over. Harry going to an orphanage was one of them.

"Why can't we just leave him wherever he his? The Potter boy can take care of himself. Why are we wasting our time for some little brat?" Snape demanded angrily. Typical Snape. He thought he was unpredictable, but anything with Potter got him dangerously pissed off. Dumbledore loved pushing his buttons by talking about the Boy-who-lived. It was one way to get Snape out of his office.

"Because, Severus, if the death-eaters get a hold of him they will try to extract revenge. We can't let that happen." Albus replied, acting grave and disappointed. He knew how to act and make an appearance. After all he did lead the war against Voldemort. In truth he did not care particularly about Harry's safety. If it weren't for the prophecy he would leave him to the death eaters. The death eaters were an elite group of Voldemort's followers. They were smart and cruel. After all Voldemort did not mark idiots with his dark mark.

"Point me Harry Potter." Albus put his wand flat on his palm as he said the spell in a bored monotone. The wand turned around and around in circles before stopping and pointing to the direction of St.Paul's orphanage.

The orphanage in question was fifteen miles away from Privet Drive. To say that Snape did not enjoy the walk would be an understatement. He looked ready to kill. The only reason he was here was to be a focus for Dumbledore to put up wards wherever the famous Potter brat lived. He did not want to, for he would be happy to return to his potions and tune the world out. But he respected Albus, and knew that this was important. Dumbledore had told him the complete prophecy, for which he was glad. Albus was known to keep secrets.

Dumbledore on the other hand loved it. His elixir of life potion which he consumed made his body as fit as a twenty year old. He enjoyed walking and watching the angry looks Snape gave him. Snape - He would have to be careful around him. He still wasn't sure if Snape was really a spy for the light. Snape sure didn't act like it.

When they finally reached the blasted orphanage of St.Paul, Snape was ready to crucio someone into insanity. He was pissed. He decided to give Potter hell when the brat went to his potions class. "Somebody has to pay!" Snape said to himself, over and over. He did not enjoy walking, or any form of exercise. They were for stupid muggles, not him.

Dumbledore muttered a spell that would turn them both invisible and sought to find Harry Potter using the "point me" spell. It wasn't long before they found his room. Dumbledore opened the door, and saw the boy sleeping peacefully. Albus looked at Snape and nodded his head. Snape sighed and went on top of Harry potter's bed. He extended his hands out, while Dumbledore whispered some incantations in Latin. The entire orphanage glowed a pale blue.

Casting wards isn't as easy as people think. It takes lots of energy, and needs at least two people. One for the incantion, usually the stronger one, and one for the focus. There are many different types of wards. The pale blue color meant that the ward was done. Wards, while casting them is fast, are also extremely difficult. Only the most powerful wizards could cast these spells. Dumbledore was one of those powerful wizards.

The ward that Snape and Dumbledore casted was used to expel powerful dark forces and evil objects from the orphanage. It wouldn't stop a wizard as powerful as Voldemort but it would stop the normal average death eater, unless he knew how to break wards of course. But if that were to happen Dumbledore would know immediately, as an alarm would ring in his office. One of the advantages of using this ward. There weren't many but this was one of them.

Snape and Dumbledore looked exhausted. They both used up a lot of energy and would need some time to recover.

"Well Albus, are we done now?" Snape asked. He looked extremely tired and unhappy. That was because the wards were trying to push him out, because he had the dark mark. The wards wouldn't completely expel him, because he was the focus, but it would make him feel uncomfortable and weak.

Dumbledore nodded his head and took Snape's hand. He apparated them both to Hogsmeade and went into the pub. They were both tired, and after ordering a couple of drinks they left. Each of them went into their own apartments and slept like logs. Too bad they didn't notice Harry's eyes opening and watching them when they were making the wards...

Chapter 9 - Sightseeing America

Voldemort, possessing a cockroach, heard the whistle blowing. That meant that the ship was going into the harbor. He waited for a while, until he heard footsteps. People were moving, and getting off the boat. The time was up. He was back in England!

The vile and evil looking cockroach dodged the feet trying to stomp him and went up the stairs to the deck where he looked around trying to find the small bridge like thing that connected the harbor to the ship.

After seeing the metal bridge where most people were heading to, he ran to it. Dodging the feet once again, he walked to the harbor and onto the street. Looking around, he felt slightly strange. Some thing was not right.

The cockroach walked on the street and into a small alley where he slept for the night. The next morning the cockroach was dead.

Now what to do? How am I going to get a body? I can't possess anyone. If only I had a wand and I could hold it. Then I could perform a bit of necromancy to get me back into the body of a baby, a disfigured and ugly baby, but a body nonetheless.

Or someone could perform the spell on me. That could work too. But where can I find a loyal wizard? I could go to Malfoy but he might try to kill me or turn on me. Malfoy is cunning one...

The wizard who performs the necromantic spell has to have a lot of power, and knowledge. So that rules out my death eaters. None of them have enough power. Maybe I could possess someone, but they must give me permission first. I could try to trick a muggle... Where am I? Has Britain really changed so much over the years?

Voldemort found a sewer rat to possess and walked on the street, merely observing. Day turned into night, and back again. Yet Voldemort just observed. He concluded with a shock that Britain probably had a revolution or something drastic. How else could everything change so much?

The streets were much cleaner, the air much warmer, the people had funny accents and were dressed in different clothes than normal British muggles. What had changed? Voldemort wondered, yet again, looking at the people passing by.

The rat's stomach growled. He was hungry. So he started looking for adequate sources of food. It wasn't long before he found an establishment that sold food; the sign said Burger King.

The rat went inside the restaurant when a customer opened the door, walking out. Voldemort, in the rat form, saw chairs and tables filling up the well-lighted room. There was a counter where a muggle woman was pressing something and exchanging money. Voldemort went to a table where a muggle family was eating and whispered: "Accio funny round looking thing". The burger went straight to the rat, who picked the slice of meat in his mouth and ran as far away as he could.

To say that this caused a commotion would be an understatement. The muggle family started screaming and pointing at Voldemort, which he found highly annoying.

Rats have incredible legs, which can be used to jump higher than average animals their size. Voldemort, the rat, jumped right out of the window and fell onto a big mud puddle. His piece of meat still in his teeth, he ran. He ran and stopped at a corner, where he ate his well-earned meal.

Voldemort sighed. Where am I? This can't be Britain, I am sure of it. But if it isn't than where exactly did the ship drop me off?
10 Days Later -

Voldemort sighed. Why did he have to possess a stupid muggle like this one? He remembered as a rat that he had gone into a nightclub, left the rat that promptly died and simply asked a woman dressed in black, wearing black lipstick and weird metal things in her ears, nose and tongue:

"Hey can I possess you so I can go back to England and proceed with my plans for world domination?" Voldemort thought it was worth a shot. Muggles were stupid anyways and it wasn't like they could do anything to him. What's the worst that could happen?

The woman, being stupid and ignorant said, "Yes, possess me you handsome demon!"

This just proved to Voldemort that muggles were stupid, dumb and strange. Who says that to a dark lord? Was she asking for death?

It was amusing at first... Controlling the muggle woman around. He used the woman to ask where they were...

When the man said America the dark lord fainted. Voldemort was so embarrassed, what kind of a dark lord faints? And how the hell did he end up in America?

For food, he just went into the muggle stores, took the food, and left. Simple? It worked for a while until the muggle aurors started chasing you. Then he had to run, with his tail behind his legs so to speak.

It was fine. It was all right. He could recover; he could bear being a muggle until he found a wand that is. But where would he find one?

Wizards couldn't do magic due to their bodies but because of their spirits. It was extremely complicated and hypothetical but the gist of it was that Voldemort could do magic with the muggle if he had a wand. Since the muggle was a human being and extremely larger than a rat she would last about a year or so. Enough time to get his own body and go back to England.

It was different being a woman. Extremely weird. But Voldemort got used to it, he even liked it. And living like a muggle wasn't so bad. They had something called a TV that showed moving things with sound. Watching various "movies" in the muggle's apartment and using a bit of wandless magic to get food was his daily routine. At night he would look for wizards and their shopping centers. But for now he was satisfied.

Voldemort got immense knowledge of muggle life from the woman's brain and decided that muggles weren't so bad. Just stupid, like animals. They weren't worth his concern.

When he first came into the muggle's apartment he thought, who would want to live in this hell hole?

But then he got used to it. It was not so bad living as a muggle. It was kind of like living like a big dumb animal. Not bad when you get used to it.
One day, when Voldemort was looking for wizards and any sign or whisper of magic he noticed a small abandoned and old looking shop. It was located in a street filled with shops and stores of many kinds, but what was different about this shop was that when the muggles passed by they never noticed it, instead they just walked by. They did not look at it nor comment on it. Which was strange because most people, when they see a shop as rundown as that they make not so kind comments about it.

So Lord Voldemort decided to walk in. And he did. Immediately he noticed that he hit the jackpot. The shop on the inside looked like an enormous mansion, obviously having the inside of the shop enlarged by magic. There were chairs and stools and tables, making it look like a muggle restaurant. It obviously was not, by the robes that the people were wearing, and the butterbeer and firewhiskey they were drinking.

All right, calm down Tom. Think. First I have to find a wand. But how will I get one? Buy it? I have absolutely no money, so I cant just waltz into a wand shop and demand a wand. And I am not sure that I can do magic. So I will just have to steal it. Easy, pick pocketing is. God, stop thinking like Yoda I must.

Focus, Tom, focus. I need to find a wizard with his wand sticking out of his pocket and take it. Very sneakily.

Voldemort looked around, and noticed an old woman wearing an enormous brown trench coat. That would not work. He noticed a young wizard drinking firewhiskey and talking to some hot looking babes. Luckily for Voldemort, he had his wand sticking out of his back pocket. Time for action!

He walked over to the young wizard, and slowly put his hand on the wand and quickly snatched it. He pocketed it in the dress that the woman who he was currently possessing was wearing. And then he walked out of the store. Incidentally the store name was: Pocket a wand!

Voldemort went out of the street and to the possessed woman's apartment. There he muttered some ancient dark, and extremely evil spells that would let him get his own body back. But for this spell to work there had to be a sacrifice. Which was going to be the woman's life force.

"Skarem Scarenteliia Karray Skarem." Those might seem like nonsense words to anybody not versed in the legendary arts of necromancy but to Voldemort they were powerful spells. They were marvelous and utterly fantastic spells. With each word being a powerful spell.

The woman's body started melting, slowly. Extremely slowly. It just melted and melted until all that was left was an egg, in a puddle of melted human. The egg had to be at rest for five days, for it to grow, and when it would hatch a young human body would break out. A male one, for Voldemort was a male, in mind and spirit at least.

And the egg was going to hatch. But it would be extremely painful for Voldemort. He would feel his bones being regrown and his organs being redeposited in to his body. A very painful process it is to revive a human from a spirit form.

And revive it did. Painfully.

Chapter 9

Cornelius Fudge was surprised, as he saw the report his secretary gave him. He was back from a nice vacation in Hawaii and was sitting in his luxurious leather chair inside his spacious office that many ministry employees would kill for. The report was quite simple, just giving details about key employees and important wizards. What was in the report was the surprising bit though.

Supposedly, Lucious Malfoy was taking a vacation in America for a bit. So was Avery, Mcnair, Crabbe and Goyle. "Malfoy's cronies, no doubt." Fudge said to himself.

The minister of magic was not a fool. He knew that these five were death eaters. He did not press charges because of the generous funds and donations from these five people. The families were rich after all. And Fudge needed money, lots of it. For his salary and his bribings to various important employees in the ministry. It was hard work staying in the minister position after all.

He thought to himself: "Why would all five of them be taking a vacation to America of all places? Don't they know how many muggle worshippers there are over there? They probably do. Those five people are Slytherins after all. I will have to keep a close eye on this. Maybe I can send an unspeakable or two to tag them and see what they are up to..."

With that he set out from his office and towards the fireplace located at the end of the hallway. He took some floo powder from a canteen located on the small shelf next to the fireplace and threw it into the raging fire. He shouted: "RICHARD BULSTRODE'S OFFICE." And then he threw himself in.

Richard Bulstrode was the head of the department of mysteries. He was currently sitting in his office going over paperwork when he saw the fireplace in his office in the corner turn green. Minister Fudge himself stepped out of the fireplace and shook the dust off his expensive silk robes. He walked up to Richard Bulstrode's desk confidently and waited to be noticed. He did not have to wait for long.

"Minister Fudge, I am surprised to see you here. Is everything fine?" Richard asked.

"I had a small situation that came up and I was wondering if you could spare a moment to help me out here." Fudge said, giving him a big smile.

"Well, fire away minister. I await your request." Richard pushed his chair back and crossed his arms smirking slightly as he said that.

"I have just discovered that five very important wizards were going on a vacation to America of all places. I think that the safety of the five British wizards is paramount. We cannot have them fall into harm, now can we?" Fudge said with a nervous smile. Even he did not dare order the man in charge of the unspeakables.

Richard looked at Fudge and cocked his head. He asked in a small slow voice: "Who are these people we are talking about exactly?"

"Lucius Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Avery are leaving for America in a week's time. They have given notice to the ministry. I was wondering if you could spare an unspeakable or two." Fudge said.

"Why not the aurors, minister?"

"I think that the unspeakables could better avoid detection. We do not want the heads of these prominent families to feel threatened for their safety now would we?" Fudge laughed nervously.

Richard Bulstrode smirked as he agreed to the request.

"Alright Minister. I will follow them to America myself. I need a vacation anyways."

When Fudge was back in his office he swore. He could perhaps threaten an unspeakable to tell him or something. He had done it before. But he could not go against the head of the department of mysteries. It was within their right to start a revolution in the ministry if they found that the government was getting too oppressive and corrupt, as stated by the peace contract of 1887. And Richard was not a very nice man. He was accused of being a death eater on many an occasion. Fudge would have to be a complete idiot not to suspect him.


Lucious Malfoy was sitting in his parlor inside his large mansion when the letter came. It came by the window, carried by a humongous black hawk with eyes as sharp as knives. He opened the letter, and gasped in shock as he looked at the familiar signature. The dark mark! As soon as he touched the note inside the envelope he felt the burning of his mark made by Voldemort on his left arm. It burned with a passion. Voldemort was back!

The note was short. It consisted of three or four sentences and was written in elegant handwriting and the words LORD VOLDEMORT AWAITS were written with a flourish.

The note was thus:

Dear Lucius Malfoy,

Hello old friend. I am back and in action. Come to America for riches and treasure. Do not disappoint me. I will find you as soon as you land on this blasted land.


The note was short and spectacular, although the reaction on Malfoy was not. He was scared and pleased. Lord Voldemort would punish him for not seeking him out on one hand, on the other Voldemort always kept his word. He sighed. Life just became more complicated.


Greggory Goyle was doing his favorite thing, eating. He was sitting in his large dining room and was awaiting the food his house-elves prepared for him. Usually he had an extremely large appetite that would never go away. It went away as soon as he saw the note.

The enormous black hawk swooped down on Goyle just as he had to Malfoy and dropped the black envelope on Goyle's lap and flew away. The note was similar to Malfoy's but promised of different things.

The note was thus:

Dear Greggory Goyle,

Well I hear you have had a successful few years despite the horrendous accusations that people have been making. I am back, hard to believe? Come to America Goyle, my faithful death eater. You will find riches there. Treasure, women, muggle torture, delightful food is just the beginning. Come to America Goyle. Come to your lord my faithful servant. You shall be rewarded.


Lord Voldemort used a nice fancy letter to Goyle because he knew that Goyle would come at his call to the sound of fancy promises. It was easy. Lucius was harder though. If Voldemort used a too big or far fetched letter, than the head of the most ancient and noble house of Malfoy would discard it immediately and put it as Voldemort begging with useless words. Malfoy was a valuable asset if handled properly.

And so similar letters were sent to the five death eaters. As soon as they touched the letters their marks fired up again and looked vivid. Voldemort watched and heard all through their marks. He heard them plan with each other on what to do about this. Malfoy was against going back, as he suspected. Malfoy already had a good life in Britain and he loathed going to another country. Soon they decided to make this a nice vacation and leave their families in England away from the inevitable war in America.

Even as Voldemort heard all through the marks, another person, a boy named Harry Potter heard all through the scar link. And he woke up slowly opening his eyes, only to see two men chanting some words and holding out sticks. They were of course Snape and Dumbledore casting wards. But Harry did not know that, yet.

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