Chapter 1. Restless Night

Crack! WOOSH!

In the smallest bedroom of Number Four Privet Drive was a boy who had been desperately trying to go to sleep. Suddenly, he flew off his bed with astounding speed only to stop short and gape at the source of the noise that disturbed his light slumber. In the middle of the room was a swirling crimson and gold fireball that illuminated the dark, moonless night. Before he could react further, however, a familiar phoenix emerged out of the centre of the fireball.

"Fawkes! What on earth are you doing here?" he asked quietly, trying not to disturb his aunt and uncle down the hall. The mythological bird soared once around the room before landing on the end of the boy's bed, trilling a single comforting note of welcome. The boy picked up his round, wire-framed glasses off the night table, and switched on the lamp next to his bed. As he walked quickly over to the bird, he noticed a parchment envelope attached to its leg. He relieved the large, beautiful bird of its burden, absentmindedly stroking it while he studied the note. It was simply addressed 'Harry' in his headmaster's familiar loopy, cursive writing.

Harry abandoned petting Fawkes, for he was truly curious as to why Dumbledore would be writing him at this late hour. He hadn't had more than a hello from anyone over the past three weeks, so it was with that in mind that he turned over the parchment envelope and broke Dumbledore's seal.

Harry,

I am sorry to disturb you at such a late hour. However, we have just finished putting together the final plans for your removal from your relatives' care. The distressing events last month at the Ministry of Magic have undergone much scrutiny as of late amongst our group. While you did an excellent job, we feel that you should receive more advanced training over the summer to help boost your skills.

With Voldemort's public outing last month, it is only a matter of time before he once again establishes his reign of terror over our world. While your protection is of utmost importance, so, too, is your ability to defend yourself properly.

Mistress Dreia McKinnon will be by in the morning to collect you to begin your training. She is a young, bright, and very capable witch. She will be moving you to a secure location for the next week while you train with her.

Only a few key members of the Order know that you will be taken a week early, so I advise you to please try to keep this to yourself.

Best Regards,

Albus Dumbledore.

Harry tried hard to suppress the anger building in the pit of his stomach as he refolded the note. On the one hand, Dumbledore still insisted on meddling with his life, as Harry now realized he had done on so many other occasions, from the fact that he was stuck in the house every summer, to the fact that he had kept the real reason his parents had died when he was a mere toddler hidden. On the other hand, he was getting out of the house five weeks earlier than he had anticipated, and from the sounds of it, somehow he would be able to use, or at least learn about, magic.

The latter weighing much more heavily than the former, he decided that he would let the old coot meddle all he wanted if it meant that he could get out of the damnable house and away from his troublesome relatives.

Harry plopped down again on his bed, thanking the phoenix quietly and asking it to pass along that he would be ready. Fawkes trilled one final note before he was gone in a whirlwind of fire and feathers.

Staring at the ceiling, Harry started feeling a bit depressed again. Since coming to his relatives' for the summer, he had worked hard to avoid thinking about, or even acknowledging the events that transpired that night in the Department of Mysteries as well as what had happened later that morning in the Headmaster's office.

Now, with such blatant reference in the letter from Dumbledore, those events again crossed his mind. So it was with a heavy heart and an even heavier weight upon his shoulders that he turned over, removed his glasses, switched off the lamp and tried desperately to forget it all and go to sleep. Tomorrow, it seemed, would be a busy day.

A pale, darkbeautied witch, wearing the garb of a Death Eater grovelled, struggling to kiss the bottom of the rich, black robes of the man with the high, cruel voice.

"Master," she whispered, still not daring to look him in the eye. "We've word that the guards have been taken care of. Azkaban is free to take back your faithful, my lord."

"Faithful indeed," he sneered. Lashing out against his servant, he kicked her across the room with strength seemingly not possible from one so thin and frail. "Had they been faithful, we wouldn't be in this predicament, would we?"

"Y..yes Master", she sniffed, picking herself off the floor, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.

"Wormtail, Bella, come. We will go and gather up the 'faithful' as well as any others who wish to join our cause," he hissed, holding out a silver cup for them to take hold of. A small podgy man with a pointed nose crept out of the shadows. He and the witch walked cautiously toward Lord Voldemort, touching the cup held out of them by long, white, paper-thin fingers.

A whispered word, a tug behind the navel, and whirl of wind and colour, and the three were transported to the Dungeon Master's chambers on the Isle of Azkaban.

The room itself was large, stone and cold. A small, green, dying fire was alight at the end of the richly decorated room. A four-poster bed with purple dressings and messed up sheets lay to the right. Across from the bed was a large oak desk, strewn with paper, and a high-back chair set before a large, open window overlooking the sea.

The Dungeon Master himself, however, lay at the feet of the three, clearly having struggled for his life as his soul was drained out of his body by the Dementor's kiss.

"They've done well," Voldemort said triumphantly as he stepped around the Dungeon Master's body. "We must make haste. No time to revel in this beautiful misery. The Aurors have been alerted, I see," he said, glancing at the dying green embers of the fire at the end of the room. "We've no time to deal with them."

"Wormtail," he commanded, turning to his servants, "go and retrieve the marked. Bella, go and see if there are any others who wish to join us. Dispose of the rest. Meet me in here in five minutes. Go."

"Yes, Master," they echoed, bowing slightly before quickly exiting through the door behind them.

Voldemort took a brief moment to survey his surroundings. He spotted a small mirror above a washbasin next the bed. He walked slowly, methodically over to it and looked into the mirror with fiery red eyes.

"This war has begun, Mr. Potter," he said casually into the mirror. "And I will win."

Hundreds of miles away, Harry Potter awoke screaming into the night, his scar ablaze and his stomach churning. He leaned over the bed to be sick. When he was done, he rolled back onto the bed, still clutching his scar and panting heavily. As another wave of pain threatened to take him, he passed out over the shouts of his Uncle, only to forget all of it the very next morning.

It was time. It was time to fulfil the purpose they had set for the special rite. Now focusing, she could feel the other do the same. She slipped back into the circle among her family and focused the light on the single shred of wood on the altar. The wood had been carefully harvested with a complex, intense, and time consuming ritual by her forefathers. This wood was the only remaining piece from the world tree, which had been left to the Druids through the last 1000 years. The light that filled them slowly trickled to their navels and they moved the energy into place, gathering in shiny orbs.

It was intense. The collective energy was nudging itself to be free of her body, but she could not let go. Not until it was done. The transformation of this raw and collective power had a purpose. She reached within her very soul and pulled out the torch that had been burning for the last year. She poured the tears and the breath she carried for the boy into the orb. She added the power, her power, some of her very own life force into the orb and moulded it. Moulded it with protection, with faith, with hope, with love. She moulded it with life.

With the thrill and ache of the power now quickening in her womb, she felt her brothers complete their transformation. She knew it had come. One last breath, and with every ounce of her being, she reached out beyond herself and pushed the orb into the wood. Thirteen streams of bright white light focused from her solar plexus to the wood. It rose swiftly into the air, above the giants' dance, still connected to them by the light. Forcefully, she expelled the last of the remaining energy out of her body and into the wood. Her stream ceased, just as others did the same. The wood glowed as brightly as the moon in its most pregnant state.

The wood fell. It dove toward the altar, gravity now taking its toll. But before it reached its destination, the girl pulled herself out of her ardent wonder at the sight before her. She spoke. Her deep, clear voice filled Stonehenge with the words of power that would bless this sacred act. "Harry Potter, we welcome you among us and will protect you as you do us."

The sliver of wood hit the altar. A force no one expected ripped itself through the air, engulfing the Druids at a nuclear speed, blowing the hood of their robes onto their shoulders.

It was done. The girl lifted her head to survey her brothers at the aftermath of the ritual. All were smiling and bursting with excitement. They had done it. And she had led them.

Something caught her eye. Looking toward the now properly rising sun, she felt all the breath escape her lungs at the sight she alone was bearing witness to. Strolling through the arches of the line of power was a tall, slender man. He bore long billowing robes of the finest white linen, embroidered with carefully needled stars and moons. His hat perched perfectly on his withered and pale brow; he surveyed the circle through half moon spectacles, a twinkle in his blue eyes and smile on his lips.

He'd arrived.

A/N I own nothing, JK's the Goddess with the copyrights. Please Review!