Harry Potter
and the
Daughter of Darkness
Chapter 1
Woodruff and Shwartz
by Ri-kun
The afternoon sun was stretching itself far west along it's ever-steady path, allowing a cool breeze to drift down the street of Privet Drive towards Number Four. Outside in the garden knelt a single figure, alone in his work and covered with soot. Harry Potter removed his glasses to wipe some of the dirt off them, and in the process ran a finger along his lightning-shaped scar. His body froze instinctively for a moment, but when nothing happened, he finally got moving again and resumed his work.
The rest of the street was relatively quiet for such a warm July afternoon. Most children would be taking advantage of the semi-mild weather by rushing outside in their bathing trunks, and playing in the sprinklers or diving into their newly-dug backyard pools. Adults should have been moving back and forth, either busying themselves with their own yard, or rushing to and from work. Very few people emerged from their houses, though. The sound of children playing was almost non-existent. And though the sun hung high in the clear blue sky with very few clouds to blot it, an indistinct chill crept through the air. The breeze that should have been a refreshing comfort carried with it an ominous feel. It was as if all the joy in Little Whinging had been sucked dry.
People were afraid. The young man named Harry could tell, though he doubted seriously he was the only one that sensed it! Everyone else in Surrey had been keeping a low profile since the start of summer. The news was ripe with tales of disaster and unexplainable phenomina. There had been that unfortunate typhoon the weather channel had yet to explain, and the earthquake over London Bridge that'd killed hundreds, even though there was no visible fault line anywhere in the area. Also, a fire had broke out near Brussels, causing a number of homes to simple burst into flames, almost at once! And then there were the stories of some strange, as-of-yet unidentifiable disease that'd claimed dozens so far. New reports were urging the populace to not panic, since the death toll was relatively small thus far. Yet a boil report had been placed on all water supplies for the time being, just as a precaution.
It was all rubbish, of course.
There'd never been a typhoon to begin with. That was a clan of giants attacking up and down the coastline, ripping up trees and tearing the rooftops off people's houses! The Ministry of Magic had spent days trying to smooth that one over. And it was just the beginning!
The bridge collapse was Death Eaters, servants of the Dark Lord Voldemort, sending a message to wizards who's tried leaving the country by disguising themselves as Muggles. Muggles were non-magical people who knew nothing of the world that Harry himself was connected to. It was probably best that they stayed in the dark on what was happening. Harry wasn't so sure he'd like to know the truth, if the option had been open to him. The fire had been Death Eaters, as well, just some sport at Muggle's expense from what the Daily Prophet said. And there was no terminal disease that seemingly killed people in their homes without warning. That was the killing curse, Advada Kedavera, the most Unforgivable Curse known to wizard kind. Harry had seen it used before on at least three seperate occasions, and it was lethal when cast properly!
He should know, since it'd been that very curse that took his parents' lives when he was but a baby, and given him the very scar that graced his forehead. Harry was leering of it, especially since the past year, when the connection that very mark represented had given him glimpses into Voldemort's mind. He'd been afraid for awhile now that his summer would include the same flashing images, but there had been nothing. Harry could still the Dark Lord's presence if he tried hard enough, but there was no more pain or aches coming from it. The scar had been curiously silent of late, which made him wonder why. It was a big relief to not experience strange lurches in his mood that had nothing to do with him, of course. The last vision he'd gotten had come at a great cost.
Harry picked up his gardening tools and carried them back to the shed. He would take a quick break and have a snack, then finish up working on the jasmine bushes before it started getting dark. These days, most people on Privet Drive chose to remain indoors after the sun went down. The Muggles in Little Whinging might not know what was really happening, but they weren't entirely stupid, either! People could feel something wasn't right.
It was the dementors, naturally. Their presence had made life unbearable for most people, even for Muggles that couldn't see them. Dementors were soulless beings that sucked all the happiness out of a person, leaving them with only the worst possible memories in their heads. Harry had run into two dementors just a few streets away last summer. They'd been sent not by Voldemort, however, but an official of the Ministry of Magic, who'd been trying to silence Harry's insisting cries that the Dark Lord had indeed returned. He and Dumbledore had been martyred as liars and senile fools for most of the year, before the unmistakable truth was finally revealed before the Minister of Magic himself.
Former Minster, to be precise. The word had come through via the Sunday edition of the Daily Prophet that Fudge had stepped down at the request of the Wizengammott. Harry had a difficult time believing that someone as pompous as Cornelius Fudge would simply step aside at the mere advice of the wizarding council, but the truth was it no longer mattered anymore. Voldemort had returned after over a decade of absence. Harry had watched him rise up from the cauldron after ordering his servant Wormtail to murder Harry's classmate and perform the dark ritual that would restore him to his former power. Thinking about it still gave him chills!
Everyone in the secret society of wizards had thought Harry made the whole thing up to cover Cedric Diggory's death. They thought that he was a lying showoff, and Dumbledore bonkers for believing him. He still wasn't sure if he'd forgiven the rest of the magical world. Thinking about it made Harry angry. It seemed unfair that people were jumping on board this late into things, when it'd been so much easier for them to deny the truth and live in ignorance.
Of course, ignorance was how Voldemort thrived, according to the headmaster of Hogwarts. Fear and suspicion allowed the Dark Lord to move about with ease, and so far, he seemed to be making good use of it. The wizarding world was on the verge of a mass panic! Harry had been back at Number Four Privet Drive for nearly two weeks, and already the tension could be cut with a knife. Even his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, who normally pretended that Harry's world and anything in it didn't exist, seemed on edge. They were no longer speaking with him these days, which suited him just fine. Harry prefered the Dursleys ignoring him to watching his every move like a hawk, ready to place blame for even the slightest misfortune.
Harry wiped his feet before entering the house. His Aunt Petunia didn't have the power to send him to the cupboard under the stairs, but she still shrieked at even the slightest bit of dirt he tracked in. The fact that keeping clean was impossible while working in the garden had escaped her. Harry could deal with her disapproving glares and snippy attitude, but he really didn't feel like bothering right now. The Dursleys had been sure Harry was up to something when he first began working in the yard. Uncle Vernon had accused him of trying to hustle money from his pockets, while Petunia insisted he would jinx their rose vines while her back was turned. Harry finally went up to his room and wrote to his friends in the wizarding world; Hermione, Hagrid, the Weasleys, all of them; and explained things.
He hadn't wanted any of the Dursley's money. His parents had left him a small fortune underneath London in Gringotts, the wizarding bank. There was enough gold and silver to pay for another five years of school, and probably live comfortably for the rest of his life! He didn't need anything from his aunt or uncle anymore. Harry had just wanted something to do while he waited for the enchantment the headmaster had placed years ago when he was a baby to take effect, so he could leave. Lying on his bed upstairs for two days straight with nothing to do but read about how no one was safe and that the Ministry was doing everything it could to keep wizards safe had been maddening! When nothing else had worked, Harry decided that chores really weren't so bad, especially when one considered the alternative.
So, when his owl, Hedwig, came swooping through the window that evening with letters addressed to his aunt and uncle, things officially began to change! It was remarkable that neither of them screamed on sight of his snowy owl. Their last experience with wizard mail hadn't gone smoothly, and the fact that these letters were from fully-grown wizards who had the authority to use magic whenever they saw fit to didn't help things much. The Dursleys were informed in no short order that they were to allow Harry any freedom around the house he wished, provided it caused him no harm, of course! Mr. Weasley had offered politely to come over and fix any work on their gardens that his aunt found unsatisfactory, which was all Vernon Dursley needed to fly into a rage. Mrs. Weasley had been less cordial, and informed Harry that the moment he decided the Dursleys owed him money for backpay, he was to write them immediately. Harry had been tempted to do so out of spite, but resisted the urge.
Still, the idea of Uncle Vernon reaching into his wallet to give Harry money for the first time in history made him grin slightly on several occasions. The thrill was wearing off, but still he smiled slightly while making himself a sandwich.
The kitchen was just as immaculate as the rest of the house. Aunt Petunia generally kept things spotless in her home. She seemed to take it upon herself to remove even the slightest spot, while simultaineously watching the neighbors in case they happened to be doing something unsavory. Like, keeping their windows washed more often than hers. This week, however, Aunt Petunia had been on a real search and destroy mission. The Dursleys were planning to throw a house party to commemorate his cousin Dudley winning the regional championship boxing tournament. Dudley had discovered boxing last summer, and his continuing the Smeltings diet, as well as a newfound passion for weight training, had made him even deadlier than every!
Harry might have feared for his safety a couple of years ago, but his cousin didn't say much to him these days. For the most part, Dudley acted as though Harry weren't in the same room. Anytime at breakfast he looked Dudley's way, his cousin would quickly avert his eyes, as though Harry were something poisonous. It was unlike Dudley to be so jumpy where Harry was concerned, but then, Dudley had endured numerous bad experiences with wizards before. Perhaps, Harry mused as he ate, they were finally beginning to catch up with him!
And then, there had been the encounter with the dementors last summer, where Dudley had nearly had his soul sucked right out of him. His parents had been furious with Harry, convinced he was behind the whole thing. But what really struck Harry as odd was the things Dudley had mumbled as the dementors swooped down on him. Even after nearly a year, he still wondered what his cousin had heard that was so awful. The Dursleys had always made it a point to spoil Dudley has much as humanly possible, and often in front of Harry to make him all the more miserable.
Harry finished his sandwich, and placed his dishes in the sink. He wanted to get out of the house before Aunt Petunia showed up, and tried to blame him for some invisible smudge on the breakfast table. He went outside and retrieved his tools from the shed, and continued late into the evening. The sun was begining to go down by the time he decided to stop. He put everything back into the shed once more, and headed inside. By this point, Uncle Vernon was home. He had Aunt Petunia were undoubtedly sitting in the drawing room having a cup to tea together, while his aunt updated Uncle Vernon of what the neighbors had been doing inside their homes, and he undoubtedly bragged of a new sale on drills at his company. Harry walked all the way around the house to the front door so he could take the stairs and avoid seeing them. What few muscles aligned his almost-sixteen year old body ached terribly, yet he felt strangely satisfied. Knowing that in a few weeks he would be leaving this place made the work seem not so bad. Also, he was doing it of his own free will, as opposed to having it forced upon him day and night.
That was something of a large comfort.
Harry cleaned up and entered his room. The place was rather untidy, with newspaper clippings and pamplets scattered everywhere. He was actually comfortable in the mess, as it was the only place in the whole house where he could call home. The pamplets had been sent out at the start of summer, urging wizards and witches to stay calm, and take extra precautions. Several of them contained tips and information about the Dark Lord, and how to best stay alive. None of them were worded that way, exactly. The Ministry was doing its best to put on a brave face these days in light of the obvious.
Harry drew himself up on his bed and eyed the newspaper clips for a moment. None of them said anything remotely helpful. He had long since lost faith in the Daily Prophet, what with them calling him a show-off and liar. He supposed that to most people, it really did sound like the Ministry was doing something. From where he sat on the bed, it looked to him like they were outnumbered and outclassed.
Of course, there were the ever-present reports of what Dumbledore was doing. He'd become nearly as much of a mainstay on the Prophet's headlines as Harry Potter himself. The Prophet spent much of their time keeping people updated on what Dumbledore was doing to fight against You-Know-Who. Those stories were actually of some comfort to him. It helped Harry a little to know someone was really doing things to fight against the Dark Lord. Of course, his picture was usually framed right alongside those same articles!
The Daily Prophet had certainly changed their tune where he was concerned, as his friend Hermione Granger had noted in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. The latest headline, which had been tossed against the wall haphazardly that morning, was now claiming him to be the wizarding world's champion.
"Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, is now the Wizarding World's Champion?"
The Prophet had been filled with such rumors and hints over the last several days, but now they were coming right out and saying it. People seemed to think he would be the one who vanquished You-Know-Who. It seemed strange to think that so many people would believe this without knowing the whole truth. It felt like a century had gone by, but in reality only a few weeks had passed since Harry and the rest of the DA had gone down into the Department of Mysteries, and fought with some of Voldemort's most ruthless Death Eaters over a particular prophecy. A prophecy that he learned a few hours later, contained knowledge of himself and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! Dumbledore had explained it to him after he'd returned to Hogwarts, beaten and battered, and still reeling from seeing his godfather fly through a black veil, never to return.
It was the prophecy that he was struggling to forget about. The prophecy, and the lost of his only remaining family. Sirius Black had been James Potter's best friend at Hogwarts, and had served as best man during his parents' wedding. Harry had thought like everyone else in the wizarding world that Sirius was guilty of the murder of thirteen people, but those crimes had turned out to have been done by a man named Wormtail. Harry had known for two years what it was like to have a parent to talk to, to go to an older adult wizard for help. Now, that was all gone, taken from him by Bellatrix Lestrange.
Sirius had been one of the few people to know of the prophecy, and what it meant for Harry. Again, against his will, he thought of the words that Dumbledore had conjured for him to hear in his Pensieve. 'For neither can live while the other survives!' That meant either he must commit murder to stop Voldemort, or Voldemort would kill him. And again, he wished Sirius were alive to give him advice. But Sirius Black was gone now, and Harry was alone with the knowledge of what he must someday do.
A tap at the window knocked Harry awake from his depressing thoughts. It had almost felt for a moment like he had been falling asleep. Harry stood up to open the window, but instead of Hedwig, a tawny barn owl swooped through rather majestically. Harry recognized it as one of the owls from Hogwarts, the wizarding school he attended for much of the year. The owl extended it's leg to allow Harry access to his mail, observed the room with an almost disapproving glare, then flew to Hedwig's empty cage for a drink of water. It was gone out the window before Harry had time to open his letter. Hedwig was undoubtedly still out hunting for mice, but Harry was used to her being gone.
He knew who the letter was from immediately by the scribbly handwriting.
Dear Harry,
I hope this letter finds you well, and you are doing your best to stay safe in light of the circumstances. If it is at your convenience, I will be bringing along a visitor to meet with you this evening, concerning affairs of state that I feel must be brought to your attention. Alls fairing, we will arrive at your place of residence at seven.
Until then,
Yours faithfully!
Professor Dumbledore
Harry held the letter in his hands for a moment, feeling confused. There wasn't a mention of his headmaster coming to fetch him from Privet Drive, which Harry admitted was what he'd been hoping for! It sounded as if Dumbledore were just coming for a visit. But then, who was this visitor he mentioned? He then glanced over at the clock next to his bed, and saw that it was very nearly seven!
Something felt odd as he decended the stairs to answer the door. Aunt Petunia was already getting up to see who was calling at such a late hour, wearing her usual disapproving glare as she spotted him. He reached the door first, and smiled automatically at the sight of Dumbledore's crinckled eyes and broken nose.
"Good evening, Harry!" the headmaster said cheerfully.
"Good evening, Professor Dumbledore," he replied, suddenly feeling very nervous. The last time they'd really spoken with one another, Harry had broken a number of Dumbledore's possessions in a fit of rage. Remembering it made him feel ashamed, but Dumbledore merely smiled at him as if the incident had never occured.
"I realize it is very late, but could we trouble you for a moment of your time? This is Woodruff, of Woodruff and Shwartz, a wizarding legal firm. He has come to discuss with you the terms and conditions of Sirius' will."
"His will?" Harry felt a lump come to this throat.
"Ah, Mrs. Dursley!" he nodded, moving right past Harry like he suddenly wasn't there. "We've spoken several times in the past, though I don't believe I've had the pleasure of addressing you face to face. My name is Professor Dumbledore, and I was wondering if..."
Petunia Dursley's eyes, though, had widened at the second mention of Dumbledore's name. She immediately let out a shrill cry, and fled to the back of the house to warn Uncle Vernon. Harry felt as though he should apologize to his headmaster and the strange man, a wizard dressed in robes that somehow reminded him of a suit. The man called Woodruff was extremely squat at round, carrying with him a suitcase Harry recognized as been made from Hippogriff skins.
"Well," Dumbledore said, turning around with the air of having just accomplished what he set out to do. "Shall we retire to the kitchen? I shant take up anymore of your time than necessary, and then we'll be off."
Harry could help but smile a little as they walked straight into the kitchen area. The Dursleys could be heard in the drawing room next door making angry cries against the outrage of having strange men enter their home without permission. None of them came through the doors to confront the intruders, however.
"Forgive me," Dumbledore said, once they'd sat down. Pulling out his wand, the headmaster made several elaborate gestures with his wand, and several cups filled with Olden's Firewhiskey appeared.
"Also," he added, settling down. "Just to clarify something, Harry. I'm sure you've read in the Daily Prophet by now about the numerous precautions against Lord Voldemort. Among them, as I'm certain you noted, was the setting up of a secret password to identify members of your family. Since we've never had the chance to establish one, I'm afraid you'll have to settle for the ramblings of an old man for a moment."
Dumbledore paused to take a deep breath. Harry couldn't help but notice in that moment how tired he seemed. "My name is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. I have been your headmaster for five years at Hogwarts, and my favorite treat is lemon drops. Would that suffice, or should I continue?"
"No, thank you, professor!" he smiled slightly.
"This is Woodruff, as I mentioned before. Rest assured he has been tested for memory alterations, as well as the Imperius Curse. We took every safeguard I felt necessary to bring this news to you tonight, Harry. So, I wanted you to know that this man has my complete confidence. Anything you wish to discuss with him or myself will not be repeated."
"Yes, sir."
"Mr. Potter," Woodruff spoke at Dumbledore's nod. "Upon the death of one Sirius Black, whom I believe you shared a close relationship with, we disclosed the information left sealed inside his will on the date of June 31. It seems that you have been named soul heir to the entire Black estate. This includes the ample Black family fortune, which will be added to your own sum that was left by your parents, as well as the ancestral Black home of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Also, Sirius Black was specific in his wishes for you to inherit a particular item of his, one that I believe of a personal significance to himself. A single motorcyle, enchanted with the power of flight. All of this falls into your name, effective immediately upon the reading of this will to you. This magic cannot be revoked or contested. Do you understand everything I've said to you thus far?"
Harry nodded, glancing once over to where Dumbledore sat. "Yes, sir. I do."
"There is one minor problem, however," Woodruff added, looking over to Dumbledore as well.
"Right," Professor Dumbledore nodded. "It seems that the Blacks placed a number of magical wards upon Grimmauld Place, which have barricaded it. No one can enter or leave the place, at the moment."
Dumbledore paused for a moment, allowing this information to sink in. Harry knew at once what he was silently alluding to. Grimmauld Place had been where the Order of the Phoenix had set up their secret headquarters. If the place had sealed itself, then the Order was momentarily divided! It was possible there were even members still trapped inside, though that seemed unlikely somehow. Still, Harry realized the gravity of the situation at once.
"We're not entirely sure if the wards have sealed themselves only until the new heir has been sworn in. In which case, the reading of the will to you would have automatically reopened their doors. However, the Black family may have placed a special magical sigil on Number Twelve, to prevent anyone but a member of the Black family from inheriting the place."
"Which means," Woodruff added, quickly. "That the true heir to the Black fortune and estate would be one Bellatrix Lestrange."
Harry felt his blood boil at the mention. Dumbledore noticed his reaction, and jumped in quickly. "There is, however, one simple test you could perform to determine whether this is the case or not."
Harry blinked. "A test?"
"Yes," Dumbledore nodded. "For you see, if you have truly inherited Grimmauld Place, then you would have also inherited..."
Harry peered down at the photograph Woodruff was passing along to him. In it, a very small and warped looking thing was steadily pounding it's fists silently against a hard floor. Tears were streaming from it's revolting face, forming a puddle around him. Harry recognized who it was almost at once, and shoved the picture away.
"I don't want him!" he said softly.
"I realize your personal feelings in this," Dumbledore said sagely. "But all you must do this once is summon Kreacher to you and give him a simple command. If he obeys you, the you'll have indeed inherited the Black fortune, and Number Twelve Grimmauld Place along with it."
A look passed between them, then. Harry understood the graveness of the situation, of course. He didn't have to like it, seeing as how Kreacher was at least somewhat responsible for Sirius' death, but there were much greater things at stake. The Order needed a base of opperations, and Number Twelve had been ideal for their needs. Sirius had hated the place, but it made Harry feel a little better knowing it would be put to good use.
"I've never summoned a house-elf before," he said softly. "I really don't know how to do it!"
"Just close your eyes, and think of Kreacher," Woodruff said at once. "If he has been passed on to you, saying his name allowed will bring him to your side at once."
Harry swallowed a lump in his throat, and tried not to clench his fists as he thought of Kreacher's rather disgusting face.
"Kreacher!" he hissed between his teeth.
There was a loud crack, and several things happened at once. A shriveled house-elf dressed in a dirty pillow case appeared at Harry's feet, and immediately began pounding his fists against Aunt Petunia's spotless kitchen floor. Aunt Petunia herself suddenly gave out a loud shriek as she fell forward through the door, and landed with Uncle Vernon and Dudley falling right behind. Vernon managed to squash his wife, who remained completely covered by his girth, save for her horse-faced head. Dudley, however, tripped over the both of them and went flying forward into the breakfast table. Firewhiskey and china went sailing through the air as Harry's cousin tipped the table upward. He and it came crashing down, as the whiskey and cups shattered against the window, breaking both.
All the while, Kreacher was still pounding his fists, just as his picture had moments ago. Only this Kreacher came with sound, and the disgusting little house-elf was making it a point to be heard.
"No! No! No! NO! NO! NO!" Kreacher screamed, hammering against the carpet. "Kreacher will not go! He will not go! He will not go!"
"That's one part of the test confirmed," Woodruff spoke, trying to talk over him. "I believe the only thing left is for you to give him an order..."
"NO! NO! NO! Kreacher will not go! Kreacher wants to go to the Blacks! He will go to his new mistress, yes!"
"Give him an order," Dumbledore encouraged. "Just to confirm..."
"Kreacher will not go! He will not go to the Potter boy! He will go to his new mistress!"
"What's that thing going on about?!" Vernon cried out, struggling to climb off his wife. "What's it doing in here!?"
"Vernon!" Aunt Petunia cried out, rather weakly.
"Kreacher will not go! He will not go! He won't! He won't! HE WON'T! HE WON'T!"
"If you give him an order, this might stop," Woodruff said to Harry. "If I may suggest, please hurry!"
Harry tried to think of the most cruel and vindictive thing he could do to Kreacher that wouldn't actually harm him. Aside from freeing him, of course! Kreacher knew far more than anyone needed to know about the Order of the Phoenix. Seeing him free was out of the question. He tried to think of something; something horrible! But Kreacher's tantrum was making it impossible to think!
"Kreacher!" he finally screamed. "Kreacher... SHUT UP!"
Instantly, Kreacher grabbed hold of his mouth as though he might vomit. For a moment, Harry half-hoped he was choking somehow. Kreacher indeed gasped and coughed for a moment, like his air passage was blocked. Finally, he threw himself back down on the floor and began punching and kicking it again. A fierce, if silent, protest against his fate.
"Well, I suppose that's all settled, then." Dumbledore got to his feet and nodded once to the Dursleys, who were still keeping their distance from everyone, particularly Kreacher. "If you wouldn't mind seeing us out, Harry, we'll be on our way!"
Harry tried to avoid looking at their Dursley's glaring faces as he led Professor Dumbledore and Woodruff to the front door. Woodruff bowed once in Harry's direction before Apparating off, but Dumbledore lingered for a moment. Harry had suspected he wanted to say more, and waited. Dumbledore seemed to know what he was thinking, and smiled.
"I just wanted to say congradulations, Harry."
"On... what?" he asked, bemused. Surely Dumbledore didn't think Sirius dying was cause for celebration.
"On passing your O.W.L.s, of course." There was a twinkle in the headmaster's eyes, as if he'd guessed. "Of course, I cannot claim to know that for certain, but given your performance during the Defense Against the Dark Arts exams... I must say, I've never seen Madame Pomfrey speak so excitedly!"
"Oh, right." Harry felt his face burn.
"I also, sadly, had a request to make of you. I'm sure you figured out during our meeting with Woodruff, but the Order has had to evacuate Grimmauld Place for the time being. With the house sealing itself, there was no way for us to enter or leave. Plus, the risk that it had indeed passed to another member of the Black family, as opposed to yourself, was too great to chance breaking in. There might have been additional enchantments, and I must confess I did not learn everything there was to the place during our tenure there."
"You can use it," Harry said quickly. "I don't really want it, and Sirius was happier knowing the Order could use it."
Saying so made his throat tighten. Dumbledore simple nodded, and gave a reassuring pat on his shoulder.
"You are very generous, Harry," the headmaster said. "I do appreciate your courtesy. Have you by any chance received your O.W.L. results?"
"No, Professor," was all he could make out.
"Well, they should be along soon. Until then, please take good care of yourself, and be extra cautious. These are trying times, indeed!"
There was a weariness to the way Dumbledore said the end of his sentence. Harry thought the headmaster was being awfully casual with him. Perhaps he feared Harry was still angry from the incident in his office. Harry wanted to tell the headmaster that he really wasn't, that he felt ashamed of the way he'd behaved. Even though, at the time, he'd felt it was warrented. But the words wouldn't come!
"Well, I believe I've wasted enough of your evening. Thank you for your time," he added, sincerely. "See you at the start of the term, in all good humor!"
Harry said goodbye as Dumbledore Disapperated, and his words were lost in the resounding crack. He stood outside alone in the twilight air a moment more, listening to the silence that blanketed Privet Drive. The place just felt wrong somehow. Muggles were scared out of their wits, and they didn't even understand why. The Dursleys had allowed Dudley freedom to wander wherever he pleased after dark, as they'd always done. His aunt and uncle were determined to go about their daily lives as if nothing were happening, in spite of the horrible reports that came through each day.
Turning around, he found that his aunt and uncle were both lurking a few feet away in the foyer. Dudley was nowhere to be found, but it was possible he'd been cowering upstairs in his room. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were each wearing looks of pure disgust, yet their eyes gleamed with a keen interest. Harry just ignored them and headed upstairs for his room. Before he got halfway, however, his uncle called out to him.
"Just a moment there, boy... Uh, Harry!"
Harry turned around and looked blankly at him. "Yes, Uncle Vernon?"
"What was that... er, what was going on?"
He could see the both of them were fighting the urge to scream at the top of their lungs. Another time, Harry would have reveled in it, but not anymore. Now, he just wanted to go upstairs and think about what'd just happened. He was possibly twice as rich as before, and now owned a motorcycle to boot. Uncle Vernon had always hated motorcycles.
"I just inherited a fortune from my dead godfather," he said in an empty voice. "The man that was with Professor Dumbledore is a lawyer, I think."
"Your godfather... he's dead then, is he?" Uncle Vernon didn't sound the least bit sad. He'd lived in fear that Sirius would show up one night while they slept and murder them, or perhaps transform them into bats and then murder them! Harry had neglected to inform them that Sirius had been innocent of all charges.
"Yes, he died trying to save me from Voldemort."
Aunt Petunia actually flinched a little. Harry could remember a year ago how she'd reacted when he explained that dementors had attacked he and Dudley. It felt peculiar that his mother's sister was the only other one in the house that understood the gravity of his statement. His aunt had spent years pretending Harry's parents had died in a car crash, and not killed at the hands of the worst Dark Lord in over a century!
"He really is back again, isn't he?" she asked.
Harry looked her in the eyes, nodded. "He's back. He killed my godfather, trying to get to me. I don't know where he is now, but you're all safe here for the moment."
"Oh," Harry added, turning back around. "I've also got a motorcycle now. Goodnight!"
His room felt cold and empty, despite the window being open. Harry knew his feelings had nothing to do with the temperature, or the chill that crept in just now. It was the first time he'd talked to anyone about Sirius dying. He hadn't mentioned it when he came back to Privet Drive. The Dursleys, of course, would be overjoyed to learn there was one less wizard in the world. All of his friends had been there when it happened, even if some of them had already fallen unconscious by the time Sirius was thrown through the veiled curtain.
Most of the people who knew Harry had known how much Sirius meant to him. Some of them, like his former Dark Arts professor, Remus Lupin, had been friends with Sirius long before he died. It felt to Harry like he'd only known his godfather for a few days. Everyone else had spent years with him, getting to know him for the person he was. What felt so frustrating for him now was knowing what was going on outside the Muggle world. People were dying, the Ministry was way behind from living in denial for so long, and Harry was torn from wanting to do something about it, and wishing he could just spent the rest of his life working in the garden.
It was shameful to admit it, but Harry really didn't want to be the wizarding world's Champion. Part of it was knowing that the entire magical world expected him to save them after they'd turned their backs for nearly a year, but that wasn't really it. He kept thinking about how useless it'd been fighting the Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries. He and his little rag-tag band of soldiers had done little more than run away while the Death Eaters blasted their way through every spell they'd tried! Voldemort's followers were powerful, and more importantly, weren't afraid of using it. Harry was outnumbered and outdone, long before he ever had the chance to try. And even if he did somehow manage to get past all the Death Eaters and other magical creatures Voldemort had guarding him, the prophecy had made it clear there was still a very real chance he would fail.
In the end, it seemed he was doomed from the get-go.
The thought should have made him feel worse than it did. For the most part, Harry felt nothing about the entire situation. He had no family to grieve for him, no one to really cheer him on, or hear his mournful thoughts concerning his fate. The Dursleys could care less if he was slated to die! More than ever, Harry felt trapped on Privet Drive, cut off from the only people who might have cared about him. Here, he was well and truly alone. What frightened him the most was the suspicion that this numb void inside his chest would not abate in a few weeks when the charm finally allowed him to leave. He'd been meaning to ask Dumbledore how long it would be before that happened, but the thought had slipped his mind.
He was well and truly alone now, but what bothered him was how little it seemed to matter.
Harry decided to climb into bed. It was far too early for sleep, but he really didn't want to stay away just sitting in his room with his morose thoughts. Hedwig still wasn't back yet, so Harry kept the window open for her. He hoped she would return soon. Having her around made living on Privet Drive the slightest bit more bearable. If only a bit!
He didn't bother changing into pajamas. Harry spent the first hour or so staring up at the ceiling, thinking how strange it looked to him. Even the ceiling seemed unfamiliar, despite this being his room for four summers now. He didn't feel the slightest bit tired, yet after a while, Harry had the vague sensation that he was waking up. More to the point, he suddenly knew that someone was in the room with him. Harry reached over for his wand on the nightstand. His hand fumbled around for a second, before realizing with a jolt that it wasn't there.
The room was very dark now. He could tell by the clock that it was late, but the room still looked darker to him than it should have. He searched for his glasses, then realized they were still on his face. Something moved nearby, and he tried a spell, knowing it was pointless. To his shock, a light flashed just inches from the bed, revealing a shadowed figure standing not far from him. The figure was holding his wand, and quickly dropped it upon realizing what had happened.
Harry raised up on his bed, searching the room for the figure he'd seen. This wasn't the first time his bedroom had been penetrated by a magical being. Of course, it was entirely possible that this was a simple burglar, caught in the act of robbing the Dursley's home. Of course, it seemed odd that a burglar would climb all the way up to Harry's window to break in, not to mention the fact that a Muggle burglar would never swipe Harry's wand. With a jolt, Harry wondered if it could possibly be a Death Eater come to kill him.
The thought seemed unlikely, since the charm sealed by his mother's blood kept him safe from Voldemort, and anything that belonged to him, so long as he dwelt here. Harry did not like Number Four Privet Drive, but it was still the safest place for him. At least, it had been until now! Perhaps the charm had somehow faded, or been tampered with? The thought crept into Harry's brain unbidden, and the longer he sat in the dark room, the more nervous he became!
He started to move ever so slowly, but the figure was suddenly in front of him. The shadow pounced forward almost like a cat, and suddenly there was a great weight pressing him down into his sheets.
Harry raised up as high as he could, and found himself glaring into the brownest eyes he'd ever seen. Surrounding him was an oval face, pale and lit by the light of his own wand. Dark hair framed the exotic face, leading down to a well-muscled and fully-formed female body. A lumped formed in his throat as the young woman watched him closely, not saying a word. She reminded him a little of Cho Chang, and for a moment, Harry actually believed it was her. Or, rather, perhaps an older sister, but a closer look showed that they were too different still.
The girl seized Harry by his wrists before he could move any further, and pinned them above his head. Leaning forward, she glared into his face for a moment, before raising up slightly to examine his forehead.
"You're Harry Potter," she whispered in a low voice. His ear tickled as her words breathed across. "Aren't you."
Harry found his voice, but it wasn't easy. He could already feel his face burning red. "I..." he stammered. "I'm... Who are you?!"
"Shhh!" she whispered softly instead, not answering. "Lie still."
"Why?" he demanded. His whole body was growing hot, now. Not to mention the fact that her waist was straddled across his, as though he were a saddle. This made things very uncomfortable, not to mention embarassing!
"What's going on?! Who the hell are you?"
"No one," she told him, rubbing a cheek against his. "I'm no one."
Harry tried to strain against her grip, but the girl was deceptively strong. There was a strength and power behind her grip that could have easily broken him in two. Plus, his rearing against her hold caused several parts of his body to brush against hers. Harry's throat went dry when this happened, and he lay perfectly still.
"You..." he croaked. "You're not a Death Eater... are you?"
"No," she said softly, tracing a finger along his face. "I'm not here to kill you. I just wanted to be with you, just this once. Just for a moment!"
"Why?!" he wondered, eyes widening.
The girl didn't answer. "I wish you could understand. But you wouldn't!"
Harry could feel her nuzzling up against his neck now, running a tongue along where his blood now pulsed against the skin. She seemed to pay extra close attention there at first, before moving along down lower. He winced slightly when her sharp teeth gripped the skin along his collar bone. Harry's breath was coming in short gasps now, as she held it firmly in place. Finally, she let him go, and raised back up to kiss him hard on the mouth.
The room swam, and Harry felt himself being lifted up off the bed. His arms were free now, but rather than fight his way free, he found himself holding her in them, as she herself wrapped him in hers. Together, they kissed one another, not breathing except to gasp for air when she finally pulled away. The place on his neck where she'd held his flesh in her teeth burned sharply, but the skin wasn't broken.
Their eyes met for a moment, then suddenly, she was gone. Harry felt as though he'd blinked once, and missed her. It was possible she'd Disapperated somehow, despite her leaving without a sound. Harry might have dwelt more on the subject, but his brain had temporarily left the building. Coherent thought would return eventually, once his mind had returned from whichever of Jupiter's moons it was currently on.
And after he'd made a quick trip to the bathroom!