CHAPTER ONE

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A face swam in the murky darkness. It was oddly familiar, and he made to grasp for it. It's lips were forming words, but there was an oppressive silence and he couldn't hear. Vainly, he strove to reach out to the person, but he couldn't move no matter how hard he struggled.

A piercing, emerald green bolt of light cut through the darkness, streaking toward the person. It struck. Cedric's eyes widened and his mouth formed an oh of surprise as he fell dead in the graveyard. Harry was bound to a gravestone and could only watch in horror as Cedric's mouth gaped open and from it emerged a snake. A haunting, sibilant laughter filled the air.

"Kill the spare."

Harry Potter jerked awake and half rose in a panic before realizing he was in his own bed, safe, in the Gryffindor dormitories. Letting out a shuddering sigh, he lay back down. It has been thirteen days since that night, the Third Task. Thirteen nights of insomnia and nightmares. Thirteen days being plagued by unceasing memories of homicidal professors, life stealing echoes, giant snakes, soul sucking dementors, muggle torturing terrorists, and dead classmates.

Harry had never been a particularly heavy sleeper. As a child, his relatives wouldn't have allowed it. In school, he had been exposed to too much. Neither him nor his friends were used to restful sleep. However, the days following the Third Task were certainly more fitful than normal. They would lie in bed for hours to drift off for a few hours and wake in a cold sweat. Hermione had learned to weave silencing wards into the curtains, and so they did not curse their dorm mates with poor sleep.

Knowing he wouldn't get anymore sleep that night, Harry got up quietly and padded down to the common room. He was unsurprised to find Hermione already there, curled up on a couch - their couch - with a book. As he sat next to her, she shifted to lean on him and began to read aloud. In an hour, Ron joined them and there they spent the morning in quiet companionship. They had each other, and that had to count for something.

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The sky was bright and sunny. There was the chatter and laughter of students in the halls of Hogwarts. The day consisted of social interactions, meals, and lessons as it had before the Third Task. As it had before a student was killed and before Voldemort returned. Harry marvelled at how things could seem so normal when his entire world was shaken. Shouldn't the sky be black and angry, with ominous clouds, bright lightening, and booming thunder? Shouldn't the people be struck dumb with fear and horror?

After Crouch's deception was revealed, and since the real Professor Moody needed medical care, there were no Defense Against the Dark Arts classes. For the majority of the students, this news was welcomed joyously. A free period, and less studying? Jackpot. Harry wanted to scream at them; didn't they understand that a man was imprisoned for a year and that they had been taught be a Death Eater? Didn't they understand that now, more than ever, they needed Defense?

But of course they didn't. The majority of them likely thought him mad for such a claim. They believed the Ministry's version of events, and thought he was either delusional or attention seeking in his claims that Voldemort had returned. The Prophet was slandering him and Dumbledore, and loud, conspirital whispers followed Harry wherever he went. For this reason, Harry tried to avoid the other students as much as possible. Presently, he was in the Great Hall and it was beginning to get a little too full for his liking. He could feel their stares and hear their whispers. They didn't bother trying to conceal that it was him they were talking about. His chest was tightening in distress; he could swear that the room was getting smaller. He needed space.

Abruptly, he rose from the table and strode out. Out of the Hall, then out of the castle. At some point he broke into a run. There was a pitter-patter of feet behind him, but he didn't turn around. His speed increased and he ran until he couldn't run anymore. Short of breath, and with burning lungs, he collapsed on the grass next to Hagrid's hut. Next to him, Ron and Hermione slowed to a stop, gulping for air. There they stood for a moment as their breathing regulated. With a wry grin, Ron offered Harry a hand up.

"Well come on then; if I don't get to finish lunch, mine-as-well have some tea. Let's say hi to Hagrid."

As they approached the front door, Fang bounded out with much excitement.

"Who's that?" called Hagrid, coming to the door. "Harry! Ron and Hermione! Good ter yeh, come on in!"

As they entered, Hagrid put a kettle of tea on and prepared a plate full of biscuits. Harry was glad that there seemed to be no rock cakes. As he placed the tray on the table, he peered at Harry.

"You all righ'?" he asked gruffly.

"Yeah," said Harry, ducking his head. Hermione squeezed knee, and shot Ron a look at his soft snort.

"No, yeh're not," said Hagrid. "Course yeh're not. But yeh will be."

Harry said nothing.

"Knew he was goin' ter come back," said Hagrid, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked up at him, shocked. "Known it fer years. Harry. Knew he was out there, bidin' his time. It had ter happen. Well, now it has, an' we'll jus' have ter get on with it. We'll fight. Migh' be able ter stop him before he gets a good hold. That's
Dumbledores plan, anyway. Great man, Dumbledore. 'S long as we've got him, I'm not too worried."

Harry wondered at Hagrid's faith, and he wished he could share it. But year after year, hadn't it been evident that Dumbledore was not the Great Protector? He wasn't the one to deal with Quirrel, to protect Ginny (or Myrtle), to save Sirius and ward off the Dementors, and he was blindsided by Crouch Jr. No, Dumbledore might be powerful, but he wasn't enough. After all, weren't they losing the last war until some miracle saved them?

Hagrid interrupted Harry's dark musings.

"No good sittin' worryin' abou' it," he said. "What's comin' will come, an we'll meet it when it does. Dumbledore told me wha' you did. Harry."

Hagrid's chest swelled as he looked at Harry.

"Yeh did as much as yer father would've done, an' I can' give yeh no higher praise than that."

Harry smiled back at him. It was the first time he'd smiled in days. "What's Dumbledore asked you to do, Hagrid?" he asked. "He sent Professor McGonagall to ask you and Madame Maxime to meet him - that night."

"Got a little job fer me over the summer," said Hagrid. "Secret, though. I'm not s'pposed ter talk abou' it, no, not even ter you lot. Olympe - Madame Maxime ter you - might be comin' with me. I think she will. Think I got her persuaded."

"Is it to do with Voldemort?"

Hagrid flinched at the sound of the name.

"Migh' be," he said evasively. "Now . . . who'd like ter come an' visit the las' skrewt with me? I was jokin' - jokin'!" he added hastily, seeing the looks on their faces.

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"What's coming will come, and we'll meet it when it does."

Hagrid's words kept repeating in Harry's head. There was a deep wisdom in those words, but they didn't stop Harry's worrying. How were they to meet it? How was he, to meet it? And he was under no illusion that he wouldn't have to. His mere survival was an insult to Voldemort; there was no doubt that his life was in peril - and Ron's and Hermione's for virtue of being close to him.. He was outmatched; Voldemort had both superior knowledge, power, and resources. It seemed insurmountable odds.

"We'll just have to get on with it."

Harry grimaced. That was the crux of it. Voldemort might have years more experience and power, but focusing on that wouldn't help anyone. He could only change himself. He might never Voldemort's equal, but he could improve himself. And, if his luck held, maybe that would be enough. After all, he was the Boy-Who-Lived.

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AN: I did not create the Potter-verse.

There is some from-the-book quoting going on here. In the Hagrid scene. It is intersperced with my edits, except for the last little bit.

It's my first story, so I suspect that it isn't that great. Hopefully, I'll improve as the story progresses. It is going to cover all the way through seventh year (assuming I don't abandon it), so there ought to be plenty of time for improvement.