A/N: Well, here we have my new story, or at least the first chapter of it. I'm taking a step away from Lord of the Rings in this one (though not abandoning my other stories), and trying Harry Potter. Don't expect a happy little story. This takes place after the events of HBP and I am trying to continue with the same sort of mood, though it may become very, very dark.
Disclaimer: The characters and events of the Harry Potter series do not belong to me. They belong to J.K. Rowling.
Enjoy.
"Well be there, Harry," said Ron.
"What?"
"At your aunt and uncle's house," said Ron. "And then we'll go with you wherever you're going."
"No—" said Harry quickly; he had not counted on this, he had meant them to understand that he was undertaking this most dangerous journey alone.
"You said to us once before," said Hermione quietly, "that there was a time to turn back if we wanted to. We've had time, haven't we?"
"We're with you whatever happens."
- Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, page 651
by J.K. Rowling
Chapter 1: Blood in the Street
They were still there, no more than ten feet behind him, trudging along through the mud, wands held in their cold, white hands. He had his wand out as well, griping it with frigid fingers.
"Lumos," he muttered, a thin beam of light emitting from the tip of the wand. Behind him he heard them follow suit.
The light showed little that they didn't already know would be there. The wet and icy road, mud churned up by the feet of horses and people. The freezing rain, caught in the light as it fell to the ground. The black forms of trees to either side of them.
"Harry. Look." Hermione's voice was quite, strained, barely reaching his ears. He turned his head, seeing her pointing at something, the waning light from her wand illuminating it.
Two thoughts came to him at the same time. That is a body, was the first. That chilled his blood, knowing that he was seeing again something that he had seen far too often. The second scared him even more.
Why was the light from Hermione's wand going out?
Even as the question formed itself in his mind, the light flickered and then extinguished. He heard Ron's voice a moment later.
"Hermione? Are you all right?"
He saw Hermione lean towards Ron, her lips moving as she spoke. As she finished, Ron wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.
"Harry, we have to get out of the rain! She's freezing!"
As he walked closer to them, closer to where the body lay, he heard her say that she was fine, to stop worrying about her.
That was a lie. He knew that. None of them were 'fine'. He doubted that they would ever really be fine again.
It seemed like years, but really it had only months, since they had outlined their plans to Lupin and Moody. Since they had bid good-bye to their friends and families and left. He remembered what he had told Ron and Hermione shortly before their journey had begun. He remembered every word.
"I have no idea who R.A.B is. But I know that he found the Horcrux that was the cave, and claims that he was going to destroy it. Whether he did or not, that is another matter entirely.
"Two of the Horcruxes are gone; the book and the ring. We know where two more pieces of his soul are; one in Nagini, who is with Voldemort, and the other is Voldemort himself. Then there are the other two, the cup and something else. Damn it!" He had kicked the wall at this point, in a sudden bout of anger. "I have no idea where two of these cursed things are!"
"Harry, calm down. We will help you. We will see this through with you," Hermione had said, setting a hand on his shoulder. "Never doubt that."
And then they had left. He had said goodbye to Ginny, had told the Weasley's to be careful. To make sure that they were all still alive when he returned. Then the three friends set out, first to Godric's Hollow, then to his parent's graves. And from there…
They had to make sure to avoid Voldemort. To keep away from the Death Eaters. No one else knew precisely why they had left and he intended to keep it that way. Voldemort must never know about what they were planning to do. If he ever found out, it could mean the end of everything.
Things might have been all right, he supposed, it the weather wasn't so awful. It had turned cold early in the year, colder than it should have been. The rain froze. Plants died, frosted over. The roads that were paved became treacherous to any travel, and not just because they had thin layers of ice over them. No, they had become dangerous because there was a very high chance that if you were to leave your home you would never return. That a Death Eater could come around the corner and blast you to pieces. And that was just the best fate that one could hope for. To die instantly.
He stepped forward, past his two friends, towards the body. He saw that there was a puddle of blood congealing around it, freezing and mixing with the mud. The person was sprawled, one arm outstretched above the head, hand opened in an almost pleading gesture. He knelt and turned the body over. A woman.
She was not dressed to be outside on a night like this. In fact, she had no shoes on her feet. And those feet were covered in mud and blood, torn into an unrecognizable mess. Her stomach was cut, spilling her entrails onto the ground. Her back was slashed as well. It would have taken her some time to die, as the blood seeped out of her body. And if she had had no strength left at all, then she would have drowned in the mud that covered her face.
He felt sick. So incredibly sick.
And then he saw the way that she had fallen and pieced it all together. She had been running. From her home, most likely. He set his fingers on her arm, feeling that she was cold. That she had not died recently, though certainly within the last few days. There may be a chance that there weren't any Death Eaters left in wherever she had come from.
For he knew that it was Death Eaters, servants of Voldemort, that had killed her. He had seen enough of their victims to know that. Yes, they could kill without blood. Yes, they could kill instantly. But they preferred the blood. They preferred killing their victims slowly, hearing them plead for mercy. Watch the crimson blood stain the ground.
He swallowed hard, fighting not to vomit. He turned, looking to his friends. Hermione had her face hidden in Ron's chest, determinedly not looking at the body. Or maybe she was just tired.
"Hermione," he said, walking up to them, wiping his bloodstained hands on his cloak, "can you walk?"
She turned her head, glaring at him. "Of course I can walk. I'm just cold." And tired, but she didn't say that.
"Here, take my cloak." He swept it off his shoulders and handed it to her.
"Harry, no!" She tried to give it back to him. "You'll freeze."
"Keep it," he said, not taking it. "You need it more than I do. I'll be fine, Hermione. Really."
Hermione bit her lip, obviously not happy that he would now be without his cloak. But the look on her face also told him that she was grateful for the extra warmth. "What about…" She motioned towards the body as Ron pulled her closer. Harry closed his eyes and sighed.
"Dead. Several days dead. It looked like she was running. I suspect that there is a village of sorts up ahead."
"We need shelter," Ron said, looking ahead into the darkness. "It's gotten far colder."
"But Ron, we don't know what we will find when we go there! She's dead; we can only guess as to what killed her," Hermione cautioned, though both of them knew what had.
"Death Eaters tend not to stay in one place long. They most likely are not still there."
"That is true, Harry," Hermione said slowly, choosing her words carefully. "But…what I mean to say it…"
"Why can't we just apparate to somewhere else?" finished Ron, hope shining on his dirty face. Hermione glared at him.
"That wasn't what I was going to say, Ron! Besides, we know that we can't do that. There's always a chance that the enemy will be at the place where we want to go! And we have to know what the place looks like first, so we may be anticipated! Haven't you been listening to me at all? And Harry said this as we—"
Ron silenced her with a quick kiss. "Fine. Fine. I've heard you. So then, to the village we go?"
He nodded. "But keep your wand out. We have no idea what we are going to find when we get there."
…
It was like nothing she had seen before. It was similar, yes, very similar to many other towns and cities that they had passed on their journey. But this was, in some way, far worse than any of them.
Hermione kept her eyes open, made sure that she saw everything. So that she had the will, the anger, to keep going. So that when they finally met a Death Eater she would have the strength to kill them.
She kept her jaw clamped shut, knowing that if she opened it she would vomit. Even with her mouth closed she still fought to keep the bile down.
It was a town, little different from her own home town, though it was smaller. There were houses and a few shops. Paved roads. And the roads were filled with blood.
Blood. She could see it everywhere, see the smears on the walls of the houses, black on white paint. She could smell it, she could almost taste it.
There were bodies as well. A few—just a few—were unscathed, devoid of any mark. But others…others seemed as though they had been literally torn apart. Some, she saw, had bullet holes in their torsos.
"The Death Eaters," she whispered. Beside her, Ron was silent, one arm around her, holding her as though she were something fragile, something that needed his protection.
"The Death Eaters didn't kill all of them," Harry said, and his voice was oddly empty. They both looked at him.
"What do you mean, Harry?" she asked, but she thought that she already knew.
"They weren't just killed by the followers of Voldemort," Harry continued, his eyes taking in everything around him. "Some of these people killed each other. I am betting that the Death Eaters used the imperious curse and turned them against one another. What is worse than that; mother killing daughter, son killing father? Voldemort and his followers are looking for power, and causing people to kill others gives them power."
Hermione couldn't help it. She turned to the side and threw up. She could hear Harry telling Ron to search for anyone alive, but to keep his wand out. Though not to stray out of sight of one another. She spat, clearing the last of the vomit from her mouth, and straightened.
"Are you all right, Hermione?"
She turned to Ron, glaring. "I wish you would stop asking me that. You know that I am not fine. None of us are fine. But you can't do anything to help me. Yes, I am cold and tired. But that isn't what is keeping me from being fine. It's this." She motioned to the silent street, empty of life save for them.
"I know, Hermione. Come on, let's help Harry see if there is anyone surviving."
She nodded. "Don't let him out of your sight."
They both knew who she meant. Harry. Before they left, Ginny had asked them only one thing.
"Take care of Harry. I expect him to come back to me in one piece. Or at least alive."
"We will try, Ginny. We will."
But trying may not be enough, she thought as she saw Harry's dark form in the corner of her eye. She was worried about him; he was quieter than normal. Too quiet, in her opinion, and in the past few months she had barely heard him laugh. Though, she hadn't been laughing much either.
She turned her head, looking around, and nearly screamed when she saw movement where there had been none before.
"Ron!" He had moved quickly when he heard her squeak.
"What is it?"
Harry was there as well, his wand raised. She held up her own.
"Lumos."
This time the light held and she was able to see that the movement had come from where several bodies lay in the gutters of the streets. She stepped forward hesitantly, then moved quicker as she heard crying.
"On, no," she whispered, dropping to her knees next to the bodies. Or rather, three corpses and one living, breathing, girl. A little girl, no more than four, who shrank away from her as she reached out to her. "It's okay," she said softly. "We are friends. We won't hurt you." She could see tears in the girl's eyes. "It's okay, sweetheart. You're safe with us."
Safe. The little girl mouthed the word and then flung herself at Hermione, crying into her front. Hermione wrapped her arms around the girl, holding her tight.
"Harry? Ron? See if they are…" She didn't finish. Ron had already knelt and was setting his fingers to the neck of the man that she supposed was the girl's father. He shook his head and moved to the older woman. There was a boy, looking to be the same age as Harry, who looked very similar to him as well. All three were dead.
She wrapped Harry's cloak around the girl, holding her in her arms. "We need to get out of the rain, Harry. Sweetheart, where's your house? Can you show us?"
The girl pointed with a chubby little finger, then buried her head back into Hermione's chest.
"Go check it," she said, hoping the girl wasn't listening. "We don't want her to see anymore…"
Harry nodded. "I know. Come on, Ron. Hermione, can you manage her yourself?"
"Yes. Now, we really need to get out of the rain!" She stood, the girl resting on her hip.
She let the two boys enter the house first. Well, she had to correct herself. They weren't boys anymore. They were seventeen. And Harry…Harry hadn't ever really been a boy, certainly hadn't been since Dumbledore's death.
They checked the front room, then called, telling her that it was clear. She stepped through the threshold of the house, holding the girl tightly. It was cold, though it was far warmer than it was outside. They didn't turn on the lights; better not to attract any attention to the house, in case anyone was still outside.
"What's your name, little one?" she asked the girl, sitting down on a couch that had a bloodstain down the back. She hoped the girl wouldn't see it.
"'ithtabelle," she lisped, turning her face upwards.
"Christabelle?" Hermione repeated, saying the name correctly. She nodded. "Well, then, Christabelle, I am Hermione."
"'mione."
Hermione smiled. "Yes. 'mione. And that is Ron." She pointed to the redhead, who had just come back into the room.
Christabelle looked up, staring at Ron with wide eyes. "'on."
"You're 'on now, Ron," Hermione said with a smile. "Is there any food in here?"
Ron nodded. "Yes. Harry is getting us some now. So, who is this?"
"'ithtabelle."
"How old are you, Christabelle?" asked Ron, sitting down on the couch next to them. Christabelle held up three fingers. "Three? You're very big to be three. You must be at least ten!"
Christabelle gave a nervous little giggle. "No. I'm tree."
Hermione knew that they needed to take the girl's thoughts away from what she had seen happen. No one should have to have seen this, let alone a girl of only three. Later, maybe, they would ask her what happened. Later, once she was warm and they had eaten. Once Christabelle had slept. Hermione wondered how long the little girl had been outside, alone. She wondered how long the girl had sat there, crying over the still forms of her parents and sibling.
It made her feel like sobbing.
A/N2: This is a test of mine to try my hand at writing a good HP fan fiction. Please tell me what you think of this. Constructive critisism is the best thing for an author. Let me know how you felt when you finished readying. As always, pointing out mistakes is very helpful.
Thank you for reading,
Raven
