Harry Potter and the Labyrinth of the Dark Lord
Chapter One
Dursley's Demolished
Drizzling, pouring rain hailed against the pane of glass, patterns of curved zigzags of water running towards the rim. Temporary flashes of light leapt across the sky, followed miraculously quickly by roaring thunder. Strong breezes swept through the street of Privet Drive, whistling with a foreboding taint, and as the grey-smothered clouds dragged themselves unnaturally fast along their path above, the grinding sound of a car coming to a halt erupted.
Harry peered bitterly from his bedroom, his slightly glazed, green eyes coming to terms with the new maroon jaguar car the Dursley's had recently purchased. Smoke emitted from the exhaust, but stopped as the humming ceased, and three doors swung open to reveal three, painfully familiar figures – Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and Harry's porky cousin, Dudley. He sighed, tearing his distracted gaze from the window, and wandered gradually over to his bedside desk. The lamp was lit, and laid down in the centre, as the lampshade shone, was a rather tampered with looking piece of parchment from a newspaper called the Prophet.
Harry slumped himself lazily into the seat, slouched tiredly across the table as he stared down at the letter through the spectacles that hung just off his nose. It had been almost the tenth time he had read the letter through, his heart jogging each and every time he did so. He brushed a finger along the edge of the newspaper; the stains of prior tears still imprinted onto his cheeks, the dark, blue shades that had newly formed beneath his eyes. Harry's skin had turned a hue paler, and with the sullen light shining onto his face, he looked almost ghostly and near enough gaunt.
The start to the summer holidays had begun one-month back, the news of Dumbledore's death everywhere, and the fear of all wizards and witches growing thicker by the minute. Even some Muggles were afraid, especially adding to that, the streets of London had flooded on a humid, dry day, and that countless murders had been detected, without any trace of what might have killed them. Living things everywhere, had taken a new custom to their lives – always checking family members before bed – always the fact special procedures and passwords had to be used to simply walk down the street, or even return to their home in time for tea.
The parchment, of course, was old, worn and out of date by two weeks, yet Harry kept it, as the last and only reminder of Professor Albus Dumbledore. Plenty had already forgotten about the 'famous' man whom had prevented Voldemort killing as restlessly as he was doing now; forgotten the man whom was the Headmaster of Hogwarts for such a long and successful time. And now that no more protection was left, Voldemort and his followers were free to roam the Earth, free of fear – free of any weaknesses that could stop them. Plus, wizard-kind had even forgotten "The Chosen One", and his "Trusted, Loyal Companions".
The mere mention of anything that tied into any of this stuck fear in the hearts of men and women everywhere, and now that the Ministry of Magic and many of the staff at Hogwarts were considering shutting the magical school down, absolutely no protection was being handed out … none at all. Yes, there may have been pamphlets on how to defend one's self against Inferi, there may have been guidelines on how to protect one's family whilst under a Death Eater assault – but none of that mattered if people were still dying everywhere.
Harry started reading through the letter once more, after being interrupted abruptly from his day dream by a loud door slamming shut:
DAILY PROPHET
HEADMASTER MURDERED
In the late hours of night at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the "Dark Mark", (a sign that the Death Eaters have murdered someone), appeared above the schools structure, the second the Headmaster had left for a "drink", and said, "he would be back soon". But by the time Professor Albus Dumbledore had returned, Death Eaters had already surrounded the school, and killed many students. The followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named came and left, with one of Hogwarts most professional teachers – Professor Severus Snape, whom had, according to a witness, been spying on the Headmaster for sixteen years straight without any detection.
The funeral of Professor Albus Dumbledore, ex-Headmaster of Hogwarts, was presented in Hogwarts Grounds on July 25th. Spectators from everywhere came to witness this event, and even the "Chosen One", found some spare time to come around and say his last farewells to his tutor …
Harry chose to discontinue his read-through, with what a stabbing pain of depression and anger in his throat. He rolled semi-consciously onto his bed, gazing at the plain, white ceiling before him, listening to his own breathing as his chest slowly ascended then descended, and the thump of his heartbeat. Silence conquered the house, which was shortly after broken by the clumping footsteps of the Dursley's walking upstairs. They had just gotten back from their weekly shopping, and had obvious restocked the fridge and cupboards with food.
Harry expected no more than his aunt and uncle to leave him be, walk past his bedroom as if it were not there, but instead, the wooden frame swung open, batting thunderously against the wardrobe to the right of it. A shiver was sent down Harry's spine, as he shot bolt up, his green, shadowy eyes widened to their extremes as they came to focus on Uncle Vernon – his eyes were white as the clouds outside, and an extremely deep cut could be seen across his left cheek. The porky man fell forwards, lifeless, motionless, creating a loud THUD! When he hit the ground.
Blood soaked up to the carpet; streams of it echoing outwards, as to Harry's utter horror, a shriek erupted uncontrollably from the kitchen beneath his room. Alert, he snatched his wand up from beneath his bed, whispering the word 'Lumos!' to himself, watching through his round glasses as a light emitted from the tip of his wand. He shuddered a breath outwards, questions buzzing hysterically through his mind – what was happening? How could the Dursley's die? Was he happy or plainly shocked he had witnessed Uncle Vernon fall face first, blood-drenched onto his bedroom floor? Satisfied? He shook the thoughts off, eyes set on the fully open door that awaited him.
Slowly but steadily, Harry crept onto the landing, using his was as a guide in case anything slipped past his eyes. He noticed what looked like a hand, hanging gorily over the edge of the bathtub, and as he drew closer, peering cautiously over the rim of it, he noticed half a corpse, as pale as Uncle Vernon had been moments prior, and as he looked closer, he realised what was happening. A swarm of Death Eaters or Inferi had infested the house, probably even the whole of Privet Drive … but … how?
Harry stepped from the bathroom, his heart beating uncontrollably rapid in his chest, sweat sliding down the sides of his face, the humid heat of fear burning up inside him—
'Of course…' He muttered to himself, 'Fire.' He pressed his thoughts back to when he and Dumbledore had entered the Cave of Lord Voldemort's Horcrux, and the Inferius had attacked them both – his previous Headmaster had used a fire spell to keep a distance between those living dead.
Feeling the hairs on the back of hi neck stand on end at the memory of Dumbledore breaking down as he had drunk the green potion, he closed his eyes, thinking of as many fire-powered spells as he could think of. Harry knew what he had to do – he had to escape the house, even if it meant leaving the Dursley's behind. He did not care, nonetheless, whether their graves were to be their own, hate-filled house on Privet Drive, he did not care. After the hell the three of them had put him through – starving him all Summer, lying to him, giving him as less as a person could receive. Harry hated them.
He paced back into his bedroom, flinging open his trunk, throwing in as many clothes he could he could get his hands on. He managed to stuff his invisibility cloak into his pocket, still clutching tightly his ignited wand. He tossed as many of his Defence Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Potions and Herbology books into his trunk as possible, in hope that somewhere along the lines, they would come in use. Harry could feel himself shaking heavily, after hearing yet another scream of pain coming from the room beneath him, and then the hysterical pounding of a fist against a door as a voice (possibly Dudley's), shouted out: 'HELP! MUM WAKE UP! HELP!' He buckled his trunk together, heaving up by the handle, and walked over to Hedwig hastily.
She chirped as the sight of him, flapping her wings about stubbornly as he unlocked the cage and allowed her to rest on his forearm. Harry swiftly scribbled a note down with his quill, saying:
Ron, I need help – pick me up from Surrey. Quick.
And stuffed in non-caringly into the beak of his pet owl, 'Hedwig', Harry mumbled, his voice faint and croaky, 'take this letter to Ron. And don't stop. Go' He jogged over to the windowsill, forcing open the pane, and watched as Hedwig flew off into the skies. Turning about rapidly, Harry grabbed hold of the trunk, and ran onto the landing, wand clutched warningly in his right hand, and he set off quickly and carelessly down the stairs, He noticed the door that had led to the kitchen, had been knocked down, flung aside, as trails of blood and footprints of muck trailed over the neat carpet that Aunt Petunia would have screamed about if she saw it.
Harry heard another plea of help, echoing off the walls, ringing in his ears painfully. Ignoring this request, he shot out of the door, coming face-to-face with a death-pale face; it's eyes hanging droopily from their sockets. To his utter shock, he recoiled, pointing the wand directly at the Inferius, and exclaimed: 'Incendio!' It was a simple, weak spell, but seemed to work perfectly against the walking corpse. It staggered back warningly, screaming as if it were choking, and fell to the ground, the remnants of its dead body burning. Harry marched over the carcass, listening to the faint crunch as the wheels of his trunk slid over it and into the street of Privet Drive itself.
There was a thunderous scream, followed by an echoing screech that had clearly come from an Inferi. Dudley's yells rang through the atmosphere, and soon, after what sounded like a distant splatter of blood, his cries died down, leaving nothing but the deafening squealing of the Inferi. Harry scrunched his eyes up for a moment, attempting to clear his mind of the horrible image of Dudley being slaughtered by a walking corpse, as his guts flung across the desktop of Aunt Petunia's well polished kitchen.
Glimpsing round at Number four, Harry noticed two dead, limping humans crawling in a deadly manor towards him. Eyes widening once more, Harry whispered to himself the same enchantment, watching as the sizzling bodies fell to the ground, their empty bodies, their empty souls screaming as the fire burned them to the marrow. Harry moved on, quickly losing control of his actions. He peered across the street, noting down that the Dursley's house wasn't the only one that had been intruded in.
The rain thrashed down upon his body, drenched in not only water, but also pure, bitter guilt for leaving three helpless Muggles to suffer at the hands of Lord Voldemort. He tightened his grasp around the boarders of his wand; thinking of when he stood by and watched Dumbledore take the hit from Snape … watched him tumble off the edge and down the side of the Astronomy Tower. He could have done something – he could have helped in the Cave too. Harry could have stopped Dumbledore from becoming weakened by the linoleum green potion. After all … the Horcrux they were meant to retrieve, was a fake.
He felt his eyes burning, his head buzzing. He peered around, becoming aware of the fact Inferi were now trailing him, slowly, but in numerous amounts. Front doors of many houses had been stripped from their hinges, windows were smashed, and the disgusting stench of blood poured through Harry's nostrils. Decaying, dead followers of Voldemort were on his trail, so unquestionably, Harry sped up his pace, firing Incendio charms forwards at Inferius that were nearing him. He felt as if he was locked up tight in a terrible nightmare, unable to wake up, but it was much, much worse than that.
Harry pulled the heavy load of his trunk steadily behind him, running now as he noticed the corpses began moving quicker in tune to him. He gasped as he felt a fight, bony hand wrap desperately around his ankle, and due to the speed he was travelling at, it caused him to tumble over, his glasses scattering off his nose and tapping against the concrete ground. Harry's stomach met the wet, drenched floor, as he looked back on a zombie, crawling up his leg, prickling his skin as it did so. Jerking his leg furiously, the Inferi let go, as Harry leapt to his feet, picking up his glasses and running with his trunk as before.
He situated his spectacles above his nose, too scared to notice there were several cracks in them. He turned a corner, coming to an abrupt, but terrified halt as he noticed the same dead beings emerging from houses on this street also. He rose his wand, and shouted 'Incendio! Incendio! INCENDIO!' watching as groups of burning carcasses fell to their demise, but also steering backwards every few steps as more gathered around him. Harry glanced right through the corner of his glasses, noticing the park, and shot directly for it.
The streetlamps were lit, shining dimly onto the pavement as Harry scurried part it and into the thick, camouflaged area of the park. He threw himself and his trunk behind a well hidden, den-of-a-bush, listening to the chiming squeak of the swings cradle in the wind. He listened for the gradual whistles of furious wind, blowing flightily against his sweating, exhausted face. Harry's heart was beating fast, thought whizzing though his brain like a roller coaster tossing and turning in the air.
Harry turned his head, just in time to mutter the fire-producing charm before an Inferi dropped down aloft him. It scrambled back, burning as the others did. Harry returned his gaze to the sky, watching out for the usual Ford Anglia … and that was when it struck him. Just how on earth were the Weasley's supposed to help him? What if, Harry thought, I'm stuck here fending off Inferi for another hour or so?
"Chosen One", or not, Harry could not defend himself against a million of these beasts. He came to the conclusion, his trunk was holding him behind, so half-heartedly, he stood, and tugged the invisibility cloak from his pocket, covering himself from head to toe. He tottered away, watching confused and completely unaware Inferi limp and crawl their way across the lawns, destroying property of probably now-dead owners. He turned right from the opposite park gate, sprinting with his cloak fluttering at his feat. For a moment, Harry feared the Inferius might see his feet as he retreated, but they did not.
Although the fact the Weasley's no longer had the Ford Anglia, he gawped up above, hoping for a beacon of hope to finally divulge itself. And that was when he saw it, a sway of leaves twisted around each other, swirling through the air against each other like a miniscule tornado, and there, standing the same place Harry had seen nothing but darkness, and the smashed housing of Surrey, there was a hooded character, a wand clutched in their hand. Clad-in-black, with a hood covering the figures face, Harry could only guess it was a Death Eater whom he could see. The darkness blended in with their robes crudely.
He kept the invisibility cloak over his head, nevertheless, not completely startled to throw his defences away. As the black-clad person landed, just metres away from his location, he or she lowered their hood, revealing vivid, short and pink hair, and a petite, female figure, which he instantly recognised as… 'Tonks?' He called out, a quizzical expression about him. The Metamorphmagus merely looked around, cocking a brow to aside.
The storming weather swept a downpour of rain across Tonks as she wandered about, and as she began walking towards the park, he saw her halt in shock. He looked to where she had been peering, as he, too, allowed his expression to blank in surprise. The Inferi were walking in their directions, Harry quickly threw the cloak from over his head, and stuffed it within his trouser pocket safely, once more.
'Tonks!' Harry exclaimed, catching her attention at once. She wasn't as gloomy and as dull as she had been several months' back, the bright, alive characteristics of her head appeared once more, and as she made her way over to Harry, he noticed something gold shining from her hand.
Swiftly hiding the hand in which Harry had seen something, Tonks replied: 'Harry what are you doing? Are you OK?'
'I thought I sent the note to the—' Harry began, but receiving a warning look from Tonks, he silenced himself immediately, watching as the Inferi drawled their way towards them. The same screeches vibrated through the air, slicing the silence in half clearly.
'No time— You can Apparate, can't you?' Tonks enquired, slowly backing away from the nearing corpses, grabbing hold of Harry's arm as she did so. After a while, he began to step back also, watching the Inferi carefully. He still held his wand at shoulder-level, ready to cast another spell of fire.
'Well, yes – but … I haven't got my Apparating licence yet,' Harry said.
'Well, I don't think anywhere in the rules it says you can't Apparate from murderous Inferi even if you don't have your licence.' She replied, raising her own wand and pointing it directly for an Inferius far ahead of the rest. 'Flarius!' Harry watched as a ring of fire circled he and the Auror, calming himself, as he no longer had to worry about the zombies following him.
'But I'm not that good at Apparating. Couldn't—'
'Grab hold of my arm then…' Harry obeyed, clinging onto Tonks left arm with his wand-less hand. There was a peculiar rushing sensation, as Harry closed his eyes shut, feeling the invisible, tightened tubes coil around his body, ceasing his breathing to function. And just as he felt he was about to throw up, they landed outside a familiar block of housing, with farm animals and Garden Gnomes charging aimlessly about. There was a new scent to the grass, and the rain had stopped its thrash-down.
Harry glanced about, the heat of the sun shining radiantly against his face and spectacles. He remembered this place as the Burrow, the home of the Weasley's. It had been a whiles since he had stepped foot inside their house – but much had been altered. The actual housing had added rooms to it, and had been widened so that what looked like (through the window), the kitchen and dining room were completely seperated. A cobbled path now led to the front porch, where, hanging from above, the doorframe was one of the purple pamphlet-like pieces of paper everyone now owned.
There were fresh tracks in the soul, where, undoubtedly, a new car was parked. Its violet coating and smooth, curved structure gave it a somewhat lively appearance … although, Harry had never known of such a car make – the registration plate was situated on the back window, which was shaped into an equilateral triangle. There were small doors on the sides of the doors, and the roof fell back so far, it almost touched the ground.
Harry and Tonks strolled towards the entrance to the Burrow, and knocked lightly on the door twice. There was a pause, in which Harry used to identify the golden object, but Tonks had her hands tucked into either of her robe pockets. Harry shoved his wand through the gap between his jeans and belt, and looked through the window set in the centre of the door. A darkened, shadowy figure sauntered into view, and a flap shot open to reveal an eye.
'Who is it?' A voice asked, which Harry identified as Mr Weasley's.
'Tonks and Harry – and before you ask …" the Metamorphmagus went on, leaning against the door, and lowering her voice into a whisper. 'The pass is Technelogical Bread-Burning Machine.' Harry raised a brow at this, thinking to himself why on earth the password would be that … but as the door swung open, Mr Weasley revealed himself, in black and gold robes.
Stunned, Harry walked in without a word. He noticed Mrs Weasley through the door to the kitchen, and Ginny and Ron seemed to be playing a game of Wizards Chess, even though the vacant expressions on both faces seemed to show that they were not enjoying themselves at all. The door slammed shut, and the erupting sound of metal and tin rustled. Harry took a seat at the dining table, as Tonks wandered over to Mr Weasley to, (what sounded like it), fill him in on what had happened.
Immediately, he was greeted with dreamily voices, which he thought for a second, had come from Luna Lovegood, but as he looked up, he saw Ginny and Ron Weasley approaching him, their bright, ginger hair glinting in the suns rays from the panes of glass. Harry remained silent, however, thinking of the attackers – thinking of the lifeless face of Uncle Vernon as his door swung open. Thinking of Petunia and Dudley trapped somewhere downstairs, as his cousin cried out for help. He couldn't come to terms with what had happened – t had all come and passed so swiftly.
His eyes were glazed over, his features pale and his ankle, he betted, was smothered in rotting blood from when the Inferius had seized it. His fingers were numbed, as were his toes and nose from the frosty, English rain. But it had been much more than just mere rain and frostiness – the Inferius had caused it … their lingering bodies thwarting the neighbourhood Harry had so easily escaped from. Yet, for some strange reason, the carcases had not seemed very intent on killing Harry – instead, the living corpses of pale, rotting humans, seemed to be more preoccupied with attacking the citizens of Surrey.
He sighed. Looking up at Ginny and Ron, quickly whispering: 'Is Hermione here?' They both nodded identically. 'Where is she? I need to tell you guys something …'
'Was it about the let—' Ginny started, but Harry put a finger over his lips and gave a warning look as Tonks had given him, and as he had done before, Ginny fell silent.
'Let's find Hermione.'
