HP:The Phoenix Reborn

Chapter 5: Blood and Fire

Harry didn't sleep that night.

Not because of nightmares. Not because of restlessness.

Because he was planning.

His meeting with Riddle had confirmed several things. First, Riddle didn't know exactly what Harry was, but he suspected something. That meant Harry needed to move carefully. If he made too many waves too soon, Riddle would start digging—and Dumbledore would start watching.

Second, Riddle saw him as an equal. Not a follower, not a pawn. He saw him as someone like himself. That was an advantage. If Riddle underestimated him—if he believed he could convert Harry rather than eliminate him—Harry would have more time to maneuver.

And third?

The war was closer than anyone realized.

The Death Eaters hadn't officially risen yet, but they were growing. Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Black, and several other soon-to-be high-ranking Death Eaters were already gathering, forming alliances, whispering in the dark.

Hogwarts was breeding the next generation of warlords.

Harry wasn't going to let it happen.

The Marauders' Pact

Breakfast the next morning was tense.

Harry sat with the Marauders, listening to their usual banter, but his mind was elsewhere. His fingers traced the rim of his goblet as he calculated his next steps.

Across the Great Hall, Riddle was watching him. Again.

Harry ignored him. He had more important things to deal with.

Like James, Sirius, and Remus—the three most powerful Gryffindors in the school.

They had always been strong. Reckless, but powerful. James was an exceptional duelist, Sirius was relentless, and Remus was a strategist.

They just needed focus.

And Harry would give it to them.

He waited until breakfast was over before pulling them into a secluded alcove near Gryffindor Tower.

James raised an eyebrow. "What's with the secrecy?"

Harry exhaled. "We need to talk. About Riddle. About the war that's coming."

Sirius scoffed. "Bloody hell, Harry, you sound like my mother."

Harry's expression didn't change. "Do I?"

Sirius hesitated.

Remus was the first to understand. "You're serious."

"Deadly."

James frowned. "Mate, we know Voldemort's gaining power, but it's just politics. Nothing's happening yet."

Harry met his gaze evenly. "You're wrong."

Silence.

Then Harry spoke again. His voice was low, but unshakable.

"I know things you don't. Things Dumbledore isn't telling you. The Death Eaters aren't just some political group. They're building an army. Training. Recruiting. By the time the Ministry realizes what's happening, it'll be too late."

Sirius scoffed. "Alright, let's say you're right. What do you suggest we do? March into the Slytherin common room and hex them all?"

Harry smirked. "No. We prepare."

James narrowed his eyes. "Prepare how?"

"We get better," Harry said. "All of us. We train. We learn how to fight—not just dueling, but real combat. The kind they'll be using."

Remus folded his arms. "And you're going to teach us?"

Harry met his gaze. "Yes."

Silence stretched between them.

James was the first to react. He exhaled, rubbing his chin. "You're serious."

Sirius grinned. "I like it."

Remus hesitated. "And if we do this? If we agree? What then?"

Harry's expression darkened.

"Then we win."

——-

For the next two months, the Marauders trained in secret.

Harry took them to abandoned classrooms, old dueling chambers, even the Room of Requirement—a place that, at this time, was still mostly forgotten.

They practiced every night.

James was a dueling prodigy, quick and unpredictable. His skill with a wand was exceptional, and Harry knew that in time, he could match the best fighters in the world.

Sirius was ruthless, aggressive in battle but wildly intelligent. He thought on his feet, adapting in ways that reminded Harry too much of himself.

Remus? Remus was brilliant. His mind worked on a different level—he analyzed spells, broke them down, found weaknesses. He wasn't the strongest in a fight, but he was the one who planned the war.

And Peter?

Peter was struggling.

Harry had been watching him carefully. He already knew Peter would betray them in the future, but he wasn't sure why. The Peter he saw now wasn't a coward—he was eager, desperate to prove himself.

And that? That was dangerous.

One night, after a particularly brutal training session, James collapsed onto the floor, panting.

"You're a bloody nightmare, Peverell," he groaned. "Where the hell did you learn all this?"

Harry smirked. "Family secrets."

Sirius grinned. "Mate, remind me never to piss you off."

Remus was watching him carefully. "You're training us for war," he said quietly.

Harry met his gaze. "Yes."

Remus exhaled. "Then we'd better be ready."

——-

The attack happened faster than expected.

Late one night, just after curfew, a scream split the air.

Harry was already moving before the others had even processed what was happening. He grabbed his wand, sprinting toward the source.

What he found made his blood boil.

Marlene McKinnon—a Gryffindor, barely fifteen—was on the ground, her robes torn, blood dripping from her forehead.

And standing over her?

Evan Rosier and Mulciber.

Two future Death Eaters.

They looked up as Harry stormed toward them, their wands still raised.

Rosier sneered. "Stay out of this, Peverell."

Harry didn't slow down. "That's funny," he said darkly. "I was about to tell you the same thing."

Mulciber smirked. "You think you can take us, pretty boy?"

Harry's magic flared.

The torches flickered. The ground rumbled.

And for the first time, Rosier's smirk faltered.

Then Harry moved.

Faster than they could react.

"Expulso!"

The explosion sent Rosier flying, slamming him against the stone wall with a sickening crack. Mulciber barely had time to lift his wand before Harry was already on him, his next spell leaving his lips in a deadly whisper.

"Incarcerous."

Thick ropes lashed around Mulciber's body, snapping his wand from his fingers before he could even process what had happened.

Harry stepped forward, his wand glowing, his green eyes burning.

Mulciber froze.

Rosier groaned from the ground, his body barely moving.

Harry exhaled, stepping over him. He crouched down, lowering his voice to a dangerous whisper.

"Run."

Mulciber's breath hitched.

Harry leaned closer, his magic crackling.

"Tell Riddle," he murmured, "that the game has changed."

Then he turned and walked away, leaving them broken on the floor.

The war had begun.

And Harry?

Harry was done playing nice.

Author's Note:

Harry has made his first real move. The Marauders are trained. The Death Eaters know his name.

And Riddle?

Riddle is watching.

What should Harry's next move be? Should he build his own army? Should he go after Riddle's followers directly?

Let me know what you think! More coming soon.