Harry Potter 1. Chapter 1

**So I hit a writer block with Moody's Apprentice, my brain started protesting and I started writing in first person - why? Any way, this is essentially the first chapter re-written is first person. Don't ask me why. I don't even know if I'll continue it at this point. Possibly?**

Burning. The only thing that my mind acknowledges is the burning. Flames that reach the blood red sky, dancing across my vision in a deadly parody of a dance. The sky, so reminiscent of _his _eyes seems to be grinning at me. I hear a phantom laugh and I know it is his. He's mocking me. My eyes fall to the scene in front of me. To my surprise, I'm outside King's Cross but the usually busy roads are empty. I still smell the burning although there are no flames in my immediate vicinity. I grow uncomfortable with my surroundings. The watch on my arm tells me that it is exactly 12 pm, yet the road remains empty. And I'm standing in the middle of it. Why am I standing here? What if a car comes? I strain to make out the noise of a car speeding down the road towards me. At least it will be a sign that I am not alone. But I hear nothing. Nothing but the deadly crackle of the flames.

I take a step away from the middle of the road. Flames spring to life around me. I'm trapped in a deadly circle of heat. It's so close I can feel the flames licking my legs and arms. And then the screaming starts. It's as though every single person on the planet is screaming for my help. And I want to help them. I do. But I'm trapped. I stare at the flames around me. This is going to hurt. Oh boy will it hurt. I know how to escape. I have to step through the flames. Sacrifice myself. But it will still hurt. There's no denying that. It's always been this way. Me for them. I've always wished for a normal life. For peace, but instead I've been forced to play the hero. The only peace I've seen is between battle in which I'm in too much pain to enjoy it. Maybe death will bring me peace.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. _One. Two. Three._

I step into the flames.

xXx

I gasp awake. My heart thumping in my chest. I fight the urge to roll over and bury myself in my pillow. But I can't. Moody wouldn't like that. A glance at my watch tells me that I've already slept in. Great. Just great.

With a groan I roll out of bed. Or well, my military grade cot. Which essentially means that it's a bit of fabric stretched over a metal frame. I sigh and attempt to work the kinks out of my back. You'd think that I'd be used to sleeping on it after fifteen years, but apparently not. I walk over to the window, providing me a view of the darkened streets of muggle London. The walk takes a grand total of three steps. Not surprising since I can walk the perimeter in ten.

At first I'm shocked to find that the sky is not blood red and that London is _not _on fire. Even if I've had that dream multiple times, I'm still shocked, each and every time that it was just a dream.

I yawn as I walk over to my large metal trunk. I place my hand on top of the keyhole and start muttering unintelligible things to anyone who does not know what they are. With a click, my trunk pops open and I'm pulled inside. But thank god it's bigger on the inside, that would've been uncomfortable. The room I'm standing in is empty aside from a trunk which I know contains my clothing. And there's a door too. Bright blue against the stark white of the walls. I'm not sure why exactly it is blue. I've asked Moody about it and all he said that it was the constant exposure to spells. I'm not sure if I believe him though.

I make my way over to the door and open it. Behind the door is a simple bathroom consisting of a toilet, sink and shower. I turn the shower on and find myself staring at my reflection in the mirror that hangs over the sink.

My black hair is dishevelled, as always. Various stripes of green can be seen throughout my hair, identical in colour to my eyes. My eyes, emerald green in colour, the exact same shade of the killing curse that robbed my parents of their life, stare back at me, a spilt, snake-like pupil runs through the middle of them. A grin graces my features. I've always loved my eyes. The way people shy away when I make eye contact with them is amusing. However, the amount of times that I've been asked if I wear contacts is not, so I tend to avert my eyes to avoid such questions. Eyes are the windows to the soul. People don't like looking into my eyes, scared at what lies beneath. Not that I blame them. My soul probably is marred with the sights I've seen.

Movement around my neck brings me back to the real world. Samael, my acid-green snake, is staring at me. And I realise why I originally came in here.

"**_Thanksss buddy._**" I say and step over to the shower. "**_You going hunting?_**"

"**_No, not right now. Later perhapsss. Can you let me down, I wisssh to visssit him._**" Samael hisses and I comply, chuckling as I lower my arm to the floor. He loves terrorising Moody, even though he's more likely to end up squished beneath his boots than scare the man.

I watch him slither away before I strip and enter the shower. My thoughts calm at once. I knew it was a good idea to combine water and on-contact calming draughts.

xXx

Moody's sitting in his usual seat, munching on what years of memory tells me is plain toast. Nothing on it. He's ahd the same thing fir breakfast every day since I can remember.

He looks up at me as I enter, my hair still dripping from my shower. I don't know why, but for some reason, I detest drying charms.

Moody's been my 'father' since the actual man was killed. I've never even seen a picture of him, or my mother for that matter, but I've been told I look exactly like him. My eyes and green stripes being the exception. Moody's told me about him though. Said he was an incredibly brave man, foolish yes, but brave. I like to think that I inherited his bravery. Moody says I have. Says I'm just as reckless too. I can never tell if he thinks it's a good thing. I hope so.

Since my parents died, when I was only an infant, barely a year old, I've been in Moody's raised me. And thanks to his rigorous training, I've mastered various muggle martial arts and spells that even fully trained aurors have trouble with. My last trainer was an Unspeakable, Moody said he was a duelling champion five years in a row back in the eighties. According to him, I've surpassed even him! Years ago, when I was seven, I asked Moody why I had to train so hard. He told me why. Of the prophecy that claimed I would be the only one with the ability to defeat the dark lord. Merlin, some days I wish he hadn't. Putting such weight on a seven-year-old's shoulders is cruel. But over time, I've realised that it was for the best. Better to tell me while I'm young and not when I'm older and planning a family right? Since that point, I've thrown myself into my training. The few people I've come across have wondered if it's healthy. It probably isn't but this is my chance. To prove myself. To become a superhero. What seven-year-old would let that opportunity just dissipate? I was obsessed. I won't deny it. I was – am still – rather fanatical about it. Why should I fight my destiny?

In the first eleven years with Moody, the only people I ever spoke to were Moody and a handful of aurors. And then, on my twelfth birthday, I met Albus Dumbledore. And frankly, I'd rather not have. He tried to stop my training. Said I needed time to enjoy my childhood. That Moody wasn't supposed to start training me until I reached eleven. But my training was my drug, my addiction and it didn't go over to well. We did manage to reach an agreement though; I would train less and have some 'free time'. Moody, of course, saw that as an opportunity to get some experience. I started working with the aurors. Under the guise of an aging potion, of course. Not many people would trust a twelve-year-old out on the field. I was damn good at my job. Even managed to get myself a nickname. 'Young Moody' they called me. Of course, they only ever saw me as a twenty-something year old. I still work with the aurors sometimes, it's usually freelance stuff though. Since the Dark Lord – _Voldemort – _returned, we became members of this secret society, the order of the phoenix. It was originally created during the first war to fight him off, when he disappeared, it disbanded. I was Voldemort who killed my parents. Voldemort who I am destined to kill. Voldemort whose head I vowed to have sitting on my mantle. And I will succeed. I know this.

"The minister wants to see you at ten." Moody grunts, snapping me out of my reverie.

I raise an eyebrow. Last time he wanted to see me, I ended up guarding his house for a week because he claimed the Dark Lord was taking a leak in his wife's tulips. "Right, order meeting after?" I ask as I pour myself a glass of orange juice.

"Aye, it's a full one too. Apparently, Dumbledore thinks it's time for your identity to be revealed." He says and picks up his newspaper, disappearing behind it.

"Any news?" I ask cautiously, knowing that he will not be pleased to announce to the world that I am alive. We worked hard to make people believe that Harry Potter died with his parents. I'm still famous though, even if that fame is only because I'm a dead infant.

"No activity. There's a nice report here about your take down of that basilisk up in Manchester." I grin, that's the closest thing I'm ever going to get to a compliment with Moody. "Tell me, what is it this time, another pair of shoes or another coat?"

"He was a large bugger, there's enough of him for several coats, pairs of boots and some nice basilisk hide pants." The thing was over sixty feet long. Probably at least a thousand years old. The ones I've dealt with before were barely ten feet long.

"Don't you have enough?" He asks.

"Nope, never can have too much basilisk hide. That stuff's got a higher level magic resistance than dragon hide. Well, I've got a ministry to scope. See you later then." I say before 'blinking' out.

xXx


	2. Chapter 2

**So I decided to do the second chapter. I'm liking this more than the other one. I should have the next chapter of the original up soon. So don't fret. Read this while you wait.**

The ministry of magic was large. Larger than the outside but that was unsurprising considering the only thing you could see from the outside was a simple red phone box. And despite my ability to apparate inside the Ministry, I chose not to. The last time I caused quite a bit of trouble and I'd rather not do it again.

The ministry was proud of its wards so I decided not to cause alarm and enter from the guest entrance. Most people floo in for work, but I have this rather strong dislike for floo, and I believe that it dislikes me too. In fact, the only transportation method that does not seem to hold a grudge against me is apparition. And apparently, I don't even apparate the way other wizards and witches do. While they supposedly go through a tube, I just appear, no crack of misplaced air, no half-suffocated arrivals, I'm just _there_.

So, I'm standing outside an average red phone box, waiting patiently for the man inside it to make his call. He's a muggle. You can tell by his clothing. A business suit in charcoal grey. He has a briefcase with him too. Large and made of black leather. However, when he replaces the phone, I'm shocked when he disappears. Perhaps he's not a muggle after all.

Glancing around to make sure nobody's paying any attention, I enter the phone box. Grabbing the phone, I dial the number. _Six, two, four, four, two._

A female voice can be heard from the receiver. "Welcome to the ministry of magic. Please state you name and business."

Without missing a beat, I reply. "Harry Moody" – My fake name, given to those who haven't been trusted with the real thing – "Meeting with the Minister of Magic."

A badge slides out of the coin slot. On it was the words _Harry Moody _and underneath that read _Meeting with the Minister._ "Please place your badge on your robes. You will be entering in just a moment."

Hanging up the phone, I place the badge on my t-shirt, which was hidden underneath my robes.

"You will be required to submit your wand for registration. Have a good day." The cool, feminine voice says and I felt the air rushing past and found myself in the Ministry of Magic mere moments later.

The inside of the ministry was busy, yet it was oddly empty. There have been days where it took almost an hour to reach the other end of the atrium where the lifts were. And while there were a fair few people around, it was nothing compared to how busy it had been on days previously. Although, this was not unsurprising because since Voldemort's return, few people dare leave their houses anymore.

I manage to make my way over to where a security guard is sitting, you have to pass him to enter the lifts.

"Morning Tom, how're the kids doing?" I ask as I approach the man.

"Ah, Harry. Good to see you. They're good. Georgia got her Hogwarts letter. She's starting tomorrow. Can you believe it?" Tom asks, he had been worried that his daughter would be a squib, while not a prejudiced man, being a squib was not exactly safe these days. Well, nothing was safe but being a squib was, in the eyes of a death eater, as bad as muggles and muggle-borns.

"Tell her I said congratulations. Now, I'm here for a meeting with the minister." I say and hold out my wand. Well, it's not my usual wand, it's my back up, in case I lose my first. I don't exactly want the ministry knowing about that wand. It wasn't exactly legally made. My first wand is made of white ash with a strange core of basilisk venom, phoenix tears and my own blood. The blood was added so that even if someone else has my wand, only I will be able to use it. The basilisk venom and phoenix tears usually would counteract each other and destroy itself and the vessel but seemed to find perfect harmony in my wand.

He takes the offered wand. "Holly and Phoenix feather. Eleven inches. Last spell performed; Scourgify." He says and hands it back to me.

"Spilt my cereal." I lie smoothly and he nods as though it happens frequently.

"Go ahead." He says and nods in the direction of the lofts behind him.

"See you later Tom!" I say cheerfully and traipse over to the lifts, entering one and before it takes off, a red haired man enters.

"Hello. I don't think I've seen you before. I'm Arthur Weasley." He says and holds out a hand. I raise an eyebrow. Most people aren't that friendly to perfect strangers.

Hesitatingly, I shake his hand. "Harry Moody. Pleasure."

"You look familiar. Have I met you before?" He asks, eyebrows furrowed. He's probably met my father then.

"I don't think so. I probably just got one of those faces." I say.

He frowns. He doesn't believe me. "Oh, well. I could have sworn I've met you before."

Before he can say anymore, the voice which I heard from the phone box announces the level. I breathe a sigh of relief as she announces that the Minister's office is on this level.

"Oh, this is my stop. I'll see you later then." I say cheerfully and give the man a wave.

I walk the familiar path to the minister's office. Outside of his office, sitting at her desk is Delores Umbridge.

"Hello Delores. How are you today?" I ask.

The toady woman looks up and me and gives me a sickly sweet smile that has me forcing down the bile that is attempting to rise. I despise the woman. From the large pink bow that sits in her dead looking mousy-brown curls right down to the pink shoes that sit on her pink stockinged legs. Once upon a time, she was a calm and collected woman who enjoyed talking in her annoying squeaky voice, but since spending a year at Hogwarts, the woman hardly spoke anymore. And if she did it was a terrified squeak, generally whenever someone mentioned horses or centaurs. While nobody has told me exactly what happened, I have managed to gather enough information to torment her. Apparently, she was left in the forbidden forest with the centaurs who were not pleased with her both because of her part in the centaur registration act and the fact that she had offended them calling them filthy half-breeds. What she was doing in Hogwarts' forbidden forest, I have yet to find out, but I still enjoy tormenting her by clicking my tongue in an imitation of the galloping hooves of the centaurs.

Instead of replying to me, she gave a squeak and gestured to Fudge's door. I can walk right in. So I do.

Fudge was sitting at his desk, sipping his tea, paperwork scattered everywhere. However he was ignoring the papers and discussing with a man with long silver hair and a beard. The man was wearing a purple hat with cartoon cows and it and his robes were made of the same fabric. He was none other than Albus Dumbledore.

"Harry, my boy! Good to seat you! Take a seat! Albus doesn't bite, I assure you." Fudge says enthusiastically and I fight a groan.

Taking a seat next to Dumbledore, I study the room. There's a standard floo fireplace over in the corner which is hooked up to Fudges personal network. There are several bookshelves around the walls of the room and I bet that if it weren't for the house elves, they would be covered in dust.

Fudge himself seemed to have aged ten years in the last month since I saw him last. Perhaps he was finally taking his job seriously.

"Hello Minister. How can I help you today?" I ask with a false cheer.

"I have a job proposition for you. Well, Albus does really." He says, taking a sip of his tea.

"Since Professor Dumbledore is here, I assume it has to do with Hogwarts?" I ask carefully.

"Yes, it has been decided that several aurors will be watching the school. No longer can we rely solely on the wards. It seems You-Know-Who has picked up several skilled ward breakers and an attack is inevitable. He's wanted the school for years."

"All due respect sir, but I don't see where I can help. I doubt that the parents will be too pleased to find that their children will be in my protection, despite my skills, all they're going to see is a sixteen year old boy." I say calmly, helping myself to some of the tea sitting on Fudge's desk.

"While that is true, we want you to get to know the students, to help us figure out who might be spying on the school's activities." Fudge says somewhat cryptically.

"You want me to find out who are Death Eaters and who are Death Eater's children?" I ask bluntly.

"Essentially, yes. And you'll be helping the aurors as well. You'll be a transfer student from, er, Beauxbatons was it?"

"But Beauxbatons is a French school. Won't people think that there is something amiss?"

"Yes, but I was under the impression that Moody had taught you French?" Dumbledore asks, speaking at last.

"As well as a number of other languages yes, but the accent. Mine is definitely _not _French."

"No, yours is more of a London accent with a hint of Scottish. That'd be from Moody I presume? No matter, Beauxbatons is known for having British students. If anyone asks, you were raised here and sent to France for schooling, your mother wanting you to be taught at Beauxbatons before her untimely death. And your aunt, who raised you saw no reason why not to, deciding you'd be safer away from all the fame of being Harry Potter." Dumbledore says, his web of lies obviously already having been decided on previously.

Perhaps the man was as nuts as Moody said he was. Not only was he revealing my identity to the Order, but to the entire world! I'm never going to get any peace. But then again, this was an opportunity to go to Hogwarts. To learn more about my parents' lives. This could be great! And it'd give me an excuse for not participating in Order meetings which I constantly have to make excuses for. You know what, screw it. "I'm in."


End file.

Harry Potter, Adventure