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Nineteen Eighty One, with a Twist by Serpens
Chapter 1 : Chapter 1: Manipulating the Book
 
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Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any characters or situations that are unknown in the Harry Potter series are the author's intellectual property and should not be used without permission.


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Pursuant to the Berne Convention Implementation Act of 1988 and the Digital Millennium Copywrite Act of 1998, this work is copywrited 2007 with all rights expressly reserved by its author unless explicitly granted. No portion may be reproduced in any fashion without the express written and notarized permission of the author.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters. All characters are creations of Joanne K Rowling, 2007, to whom I am deeply indebted.

Standard Disclaimer: This story may contain sexually graphic and explicit material and it is not suitable for minors. If you are a minor, please leave now, as it is illegal for you to be here. If it is illegal for you to read or view sexually explicit material in the community you view such material, please leave now. This story and characters are purely fictional and any resemblance to events or persons (living or dead) is purely coincidental. If you are offended by sexually explicit stories, please read no further. These stories are just that, stories, and may or may not reflect the opinions of the author.


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Right, now my own words, not the legalese I've shamelessly copied and pasted above. There are only so many situations and new ideas one could dream within the H.P. universe; almost everything has been written about in fan-fiction, and I couldn't possibly hope to read and know all fan-fics posted on the web.

Therefore, I claim no property over these ideas and adventures, nor have I intentionally copied or appropriated material from other writers. Some concepts incorporated in this story might be property of better writers, and I apologize for not crediting them because I truly couldn't track all of them down...





Nineteen Eighty One, with a Twist



Chapter 1: Manipulating the Book


Fate. Its restless eyes roamed the endless book written in a script so small one could place the complete history of human civilization in a couple of pages, yet most remarkable is that when looking intently the beholder would see the writing to consist of even smaller words, woven together to form each and every single letter. These words in turn are built from further tinier scripts, sentences describing the events of a chaotic, eternal universe that is as restless as the reading entity itself.

It was never created yet would never cease to be, bound to eternally scan the pages of the endless book, for that is fate's only purpose. Shackles roughly tied its every limb together, a single candle in front illuminated its partially covered face, as well as the hourglass by its right side, floating along with the book. Nothing else could be seen, no walls, no floor and no ceiling bound it in any way, however fate could never cease, never would its existence be questioned nor proven, never would it choose to be more or to fade away. It is not its place to choose what simply is.

For all its might, fate would always regard the future as the reserved unknown, although after forever reading the endless book it could guess of what is to come, again it wasn't its place to do so. And yet, for whatever reason, the unending entity found itself anxious, it hesitated and held its breath as it was nearing the end of the page in front of it. The one mortal who had the right to choose decided on his and his fellow sentient beings' future. Death approached, it was written in the endless book, and it waited patiently as it has forever done and will forever do, waiting in expectation, its task to help in the passing over of beings both noble and foul.

A choice was made. An evil vanquished by its own hand, it wasn't the first nor would it be the last. Fate read the description of death roaming the fields, collecting those who loved and deserved more time to live, sparing those who hated so much and propitiated such ending of life. It wasn't its place to choose who lived and who died.

When the hourglass had but one final grain of sand to drip before ending a cycle, fate lifted its thin, wrinkled right arm to turn it around as it had always done. The golden spec fell downwards, scintillating under the faint light of a flickering candle and fate waited for the final sound of sand hitting sand before turning the device and the page. It never came.

Looking upwards from the book, by itself an event unheard of, inconceivable by nature, banned and proscribed from fate's purpose, it realized why the sound never came to pass. Time, it seemed, had a mind of its own. Shining in the middle of the thin crystal waist connecting the upper and lower parts of the timekeeper stood a single grain, which under the inquisitive gaze of the eternal entity floated upwards, followed by another spec, and then another, and soon with deafening thundering noise the tide of sand flowed back into the upper compartment as the endless book flipped backwards on its own, erasing itself under blinding golden light and calling for fate to resume the task it was, is and will be forever bound to perform. It stood and read from the endless book, again.


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Inside the second floor bedroom turned nursery of a simple house in Godric's Hollow, a young mother of red hair and green eyes contemplated her six month old baby as it slept peacefully inside the rocking cot. The room itself was faintly lit, adding to the placid, quiet and blissful atmosphere of early morning light hitting the clear blue walls and making the flying golden snitches twinkle. Harry James Potter was a vivid reproduction of his father James, facial features and untamed black hair except for a pair of emerald eyes, fashioned after his mother Lily. She was soon startled by the wailing of her baby as Harry felt the need for food, care or a bath, whichever came first. He would usually smile and laugh at the sight of his mother and father's face and wave his arms around, asking for comfort. This time however, whatever it was Harry wanted, he wanted it at once!

"Hush, hush little Harry, you're just like your father, aren't you?"

"Lils, I resent that! I don't cry my lungs out when I'm hungry... Do I?" James asked while leaning on the open bedroom door, rubbing both his eyes and stifling a series of yawns.

"Not only when you're hungry, James." She replied laughing at the face her husband made.

"By the way, Padfoot's coming today with his... What's the name again? Metro-Sickle?"

"Motorcycle!" Lily corrected, checking Harry's now empty milk bottle.

"Yeah, that thing of his! So, what do you say we go out all together?"

She sighed while staring at the wriggling baby. "I don't know, it's a dangerous time to be walking around in the open, James!"

"But I'm tired of being cooped up inside... Don't you feel like a prisoner here? Our son shouldn't have to grow up locked inside his own sleeping quarters!" James countered, not knowing how sadly true his words were to become.

At the same time early morning fog surrounded the residential buildings in Ottershaw, Chertsey; the humid air seeped through the half open window in the small kitchen from the park fields across the road while the mother rocked a one and a half year old baby on her left arm, silently begging it to stop crying. The little girl had deep brown eyes, an unruly mass of chestnut hair and no sense of time whatsoever, she had felt uncomfortable and only yelling would allow her to vent that frustration. Hermione Jane Granger demanded food, immediately!

After sitting her in a safe baby chair and placing the plastic bowl in front of her, Jane sat next to her beautiful daughter and observed the little girl, daydreaming of her family's future. Soon she found herself ducking away from offending food thrown at her with great excitement by Hermione, who was using a purple spoon for food fighting instead of eating. The recently graduated dentist cleaned the table and wiped her daughter's mouth just as her fellow dentistry professional and husband Roger entered the room. She asked him to watch their daughter while she prepared for the day, hoping to arrive at the practice earlier than the other three dentists who shared the clinic offices with them. Jane and Roger Granger had planned to alternate working days until their daughter was old enough to attend primary school.

"So my beautiful baby girl, how about some fun story time?" Roger asked while tickling Hermione's full tummy. The baby laughed and answered, whatever it was she wished to communicate was lost behind her undecipherable children language but her father understood the main idea. Story time was most welcome indeed.

"Honey, could you please schedule a meeting with Dr. Gillian for Hermione tomorrow morning?" Asked Jane as she exited the room, carrying a few patient files and looking into an x-ray she had placed against the window. "We have to be sure about her tonsils before we take any decisions."

The father nodded and returned to tickling his daughter on the couch. "I just don't want her to suffer a surgery for nothing..."

"Roger I only want for our daughter to have a full childhood playing with lots of friends under the sun, not to be left alone reading a book in bed because of constant tonsillitis fever!" Her wishes clearly spoken, Jane fell into her daydreams again before snapping back into reality when she noticed the time and how late she was.

While oblivious to one another and coming from diametrically opposed worlds, these two young families shared a bond. Their children were little wizards, and while the Potter family expected it to be so, for the Grangers it would come as an unbelievable shock. The little witch whose parents knew nothing of the existence of magic was already in danger, because inside the small, isolated and tightly knit magical world, the idea of blood purity was drawing more and more supporters to the notion that only magical children born of magical parents should be allowed to understand and learn magic, excluding those of tainted Muggle, non-magical blood who are, by these standards, deemed unworthy of living. The greatest evil lay not far beyond these walls of hatred, an evil wizard who wished not only purity of blood and domination over what he considered lesser beings but mostly ultimate magical power for himself.

Lord Voldemort and his followers, the Death Eaters, were raging a campaign of violence against those who refuse to join them and against their political leaders, represented by the Ministry for Magic. This onslaught of attacks would be reflected in the Muggle world as well, for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers began targeting Muggles to weaken their Minister's position within the community.

A sudden eagerness to demonstrate invincibility directed the Death Eater's rage against an area of the country that had never been targeted before, a particular course of action that the Dark Lord had never contemplated to follow. Ottershaw became known as the largest Muggle killing by You-Know-Who and his army of dark wizards to date, blowing apart a three building complex of residential flats, murdering over seventy people, where only one small child survived.

It was the middle of November as Roger and Jane tucked their daughter in bed, retreating to their bedroom for a well deserved Tuesday night rest. The mother had stayed home that day, and her husband had worked until past six in the evening to complete an emergency root canal procedure for an stubborn, red-faced patient who kept refusing to acknowledge the need for such measures. Mr Dursley had insulted Roger Granger calling him a trickster that wanted to steal his money but finally agreed to the recommended course of action since he needed to continue visiting his customers around the area, and a swollen face accompanied by unbearable pain in a molar from his upper jaw wouldn't make his salesman job any easier.

Lights flickered when both Grangers were about to enter their bed, startling them. When a loud rumble followed and what felt like an earthquake shook all furniture and walls inside the flat, both held their breaths. The family lived on the fifth floor of the gray seven stories high concrete building, which dissuaded them from taking their daughter outside for fear of the stairs collapsing after such structural shaking. Roger ran to bring a crying Hermione into the bathroom, the place that seemed to be safest, and then darkness surrounded them. No light switch worked as Jane crossed the door and placed her daughter inside the tub and protected her with her body, hoping that whatever caused the peculiar tremors would soon come to pass.

Several men in black cloaks and masks shouted strange words outside, they laughed as they pointed wooden sticks known as wands in the magical world, and within seconds the buildings collapsed one after the other. Inside flat number fifty-three of residential complex B the plaster fell over the terrified Granger family while they hugged each other; the floor suddenly chipped and a large ravine formed at Roger's feet, dragging him away from Jane as she held her hand screaming for him to hold. The father grasped his wife's hand but slipped away, the look in his eyes both sorrowful and frightened when he realized he wasn't going to survive and would be leaving his beloved women alone in the world. The shattered tile shards rushed across Jane and Hermione's arms and faces, forcing Jane to cover her face as Roger was falling along with half of the building, landing fifty feet below head first.

With another jolt and rumble, the bathtub slid outwards to the void, held to the half standing building only by the piping tubes that supplied hot and cold water. Hermione's screams could barely overcome the rumbling of the maimed building as it finally fell to the ground like a castle made of cards when blown by the wind, dragging them to the hard unforgiving ground. The tub landed on top of Jane Granger, while her daughter Hermione laid with her back flat against the porcelain bottom of the bathtub, eyes wide open in panic watching the glass shards and concrete rubble showering her from above.

The "miracle baby", as the little girl who survived the largest disaster of faulty construction engineering in the last decade was called by Muggle newspapers, spent almost six months of recovery in Runnymede Hospital, suffering broken bones and a particularly deep scar that ran from below her jawline towards her torso among others over her small body. No one understood how she could have survived the tons of debris that fell upon her and the fire that scorched the rubble, except of course the Obliviators sent by the Ministry for Magic to perform damage control who clearly saw it as accidental magic creating a protection shield.

Two weeks after the attack where little Hermione lost her parents, Lord Voldemort attacked in person the night of Halloween, using information provided by a traitor friend of the Potter family. The most powerful dark wizard of the times found and broke into the home in search of Harry, a barely fifteen-months old baby who, against all odds, somehow defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named after he killed his father and his mother, who protected him until her last breath.

James Potter lost his life defending the entrance to his house in Godric's Hollow, when his body was found they would claim his eyes were still full of defiance, as were those of his wife Lily, who was found lifeless next to their son's crib. Little Harry Potter survived with nothing more than a scar on his forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt, and would be left in the hands of his closest relative, his aunt Petunia, married to Vernon Dursley and mother to Dudley, his cousin of almost the same age. It was a wizard named Albus Dumbledore who delivered him there, a wizard both wise and powerful who had yet to understand how or why this baby survived and, more than that, destroyed the most evil wizard of the century. The magical community was ecstatic, celebrations and joyous gatherings occurred all over the country, overshadowing the life altering tragedies that befell an infant witch and a baby wizard among so many innocent victims for so long.

Placed under custody of her uncle Charles Granger and his wife Claire, little Hermione was raised with them and shared a room with her cousin Bernadette. Because her cousin was two years older and quite taller as well as larger in every sense of the word, she usually stood by the shadows and went unnoticed most of the time in her new home. Her behaviour, the doctor explained, was also a consequence of her loosing both parents at a time when her developing mind could clearly distinguish and love them for what they were, a mother and a father violently taken away from her life in a terrible accident. When she asked about her parents, she was told they had perished protecting her when their apartment building fell to the ground by itself.

A few years later by September nineteenth as she turned five, Hermione was told she would be going to nursery school a couple of days a week. It was then that problems began. Playing with other children was a difficult activity, Hermione would refuse to speak and only shared toys when forced to do so, it was in late November that Mr and Mrs Granger were called for an interview regarding alleged violent reactions from their adopted child. The incident involved a toy that young Hermione would forcefully retrieve from the other children's hands by intimidating them.

"I just wanted it, and they threw it at me." Hermione explained. In fact the toy seemed to fly into her hands whenever the other children took it away from her that afternoon. She couldn't understand how it happened, neither could the other children who became so scared that they accused the so called "buckteeth freak" of bullying them. Her explanation fell into deaf ears and she was reprimanded, grounded to her shared bedroom during the day.

Meanwhile in Little Whinging, a small four year old boy was being raised with his closest relatives, living and sleeping in a cupboard under the stairs where he was forced to face his fears alone and told the lies that his good for nothing parents had perished in a car accident. His undernourished frame reflected the neglect he was put under since a very young age, and nursery school wouldn't make him feel any better about himself for the time being. He wouldn't speak or play with anyone under threat from his larger cousin Dudley, and anyone who approached him was just as easily targeted by Dudley as well; even worse were the strange things that kept happening around or to Harry himself, from shrinking clothes to uncontrollable hair growth overnight. All these events led to him being called "the freak" in his home and at school.

It was a rather warm spring day in May when the children in primary school ages seven and eight were taken to visit the British Library in St. Pancras. Harry was excited to be in a place other than his cupboard and his school, even if having to suffer Dudley's constant teasing and punching. The building itself was the largest construction Harry had ever seen, there was so much to look at that he barely kept with the pace of his teacher and his group of schoolmates, causing him to turn in the wrong direction after crossing yet another hall. It was that Monday, through the glass display of an exhibition depicting a series of ancient books that he locked his gaze into those deep, lively brown eyes framed by a radiant mane of dense chestnut hair that took his breath away and made him realize he was able to somehow connect with another human being, that he wasn't alone in this world.

Hermione had become used to spending all her time at home locked in her attic, in fact she didn't mind doing so because it meant that her inquisitive and talkative cousin would stay away from her. Her aunt and uncle had become somewhat frightened of her as strange events began to happen around Hermione at home after the incident in school, so she decided to live, eat and sleep in the east wing of the attic. Her first week in there was a nightmare, she would wake up in cold sweat and not dare to open her eyes at all until morning light shone through the single wide circular window that illuminated it. However it had been her own decision to escape the frightened looks her adoptive family gave her and after the initial shock, she began to enjoy the large space that this neglected area of the house provided as well as the occasional company of the neighbourhood cats that roamed the shingled roofs.

It was when she learned to read that her passion for knowledge overcame her, she enjoyed no longer needing to ask questions to other people and put herself in the hands of another person, she was now able to grow and learn by herself. Hermione's aunt Claire worked in a bookshop close to her primary school, and because her cousin was required to join her mother there after classes she was allowed to stay and keep herself busy. That meant reading, of course. Soon she had finished reading the entire section of children's books, and when the school teacher announced that the class would be visiting the British Library, her happiness was more than evident.

Moving ahead of her group, Hermione found the exhibit on "remarkable manuscripts" she wished to see firsthand. She was enthralled by the ancient books as she noticed a boy across the glass staring at her, his eyes were locked into her own and that vibrant green gave her a feeling of comfort and safety she had seldom experienced before.

When the girl on the other side noticed him staring, Harry's left hand moved of its own accord to the glass, palm facing the smooth material while he observed her face through the thick translucent casing. She seemed to mimic his motion, placing her right hand on the cold surface a mere second later, and raising herself on her toes to better look at him. He could now see her pale skin and her soft face that while slightly distorted because of the glass thickness still gave him a feeling of determination and purpose over the blatant sadness. It was then that Harry noticed a stark scar partially hidden by hair and clothing on the left side of her neck, running from below her jawline downwards. His heart jumped and threatened to escape his body when she smiled at him and he used the right hand to lift his hair fringe from his forehead and reveal a lightning shaped scar of his own, the result of a terrible car crash that killed his parents. The girl was surprised and moved her eyes to carefully follow the shape of his scar while she traced her own with her left index finger, before returning to look intently at him.

"The teacher's waiting for you!" A short, blond haired youngster screamed behind the girl he was looking at across the glass, Harry saw her jump and turn away being dragged by the intruder's hand. She looked over her shoulder at him one more time while he stood glued to his spot, and then she disappeared behind a large column and into a group of people and students.

Harry lost track of time as the girl's face lingered inside his mind's eye, etched to the glass across from him; for the first time in his short life he had experienced such a meaningful connection to another person. His breathing slowly returned to normal and he finally lowered his left hand while still enjoying the overwhelming moment he had shared with a complete stranger. Suddenly Harry was dragged back to reality by his cousin Dudley who punched and pushed him away. The large boy simply shrugged at what he assumed Harry was looking in, a boring glass cage with an old worthless book inside.


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