What Ever Happened To Harry Potter?
Chapter One:
Invisible Spectatre
Summary: Five years after the battle against the Dark Side ends and it seems as though the whole Wizarding World is finally at ease, everybody living happily. Except for the fact that their one true Saviour cannot be found and has been presumed dead ever since he went missing after the Death Eaters trial on the following day of the Final Battle. Where has Harry Potter gone to? Is he dead? Did he runaway? Why? What is he doing now? Is he growing powerful and attempting to become Lord Voldemort's predecessor? All of these questions need to be answered and only one young man is anxious enough to answer them, but he forgets to ask himself the most important question of all; Why does he care about Harry Potter?
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. This belongs to J.K Rowling and what-have-you, if they were mine...the Sixth/Seventh book would've turned out a LOT differently...believe me..hehe
A/N: I'm only doing Author's Notes at the BEGINNING of chapters unlike I always used to. Next chapter will be definitely longer and up by sometime next week, I hope you all liked my beginning to this story! Please review, it's what keeps me writing! Until next chappie, Mysty.
*
Even in the evening it was too hot outside as the last day of July came to its end. The three kids were tightly tucked in their beds, the laundry finished, the dishes done; Hermione had left all the windows ajar in the house, hoping to catch a breeze from time-to-time. She pulled her mousy, brown hair into a loose bun after she put on her night gown. It was light blue with a white floral pattern, she pulled a heavy brown housecoat overtop.
It was nearing midnight and they had a big day tomorrow, she felt the weariness of running around weighing her down and she yawned largely. She could not, however, sleep without her husband beside her.
She teetered slowly down the spiraling wooden staircase, each step creaking as she went. The walls were painted a brilliant red and lined with baby photographs and those of their Hogwarts days at school. Not one of them contained Harry.
This did not make her pause as she walked down the stairs, for these Harry-less pictures had been in their house for a total of four years now. Four long years.
Hermione found herself following a lead of light, seeping in from the cramped living room. There were knitting utensils, their mantleplace, coffee table, and seating arrangements all shoved into one small room. "Ron?" she whispered softly, she knew the state she would find the certain redhead in.
Like the five years before, there he sat in sobs as he flipped slowly through the pages of a scrapbook containing all Harry Potter memories, mostly pictures of them at Hogwarts School together. Hermione sat beside her husband and embraced him tightly, she felt tears threaten her cheeks as well but held them back for Ron's sake as they glanced silently through the photos.
When they were finished, Ron angrily stood up and threw the scrapbook across the room, it almost came out of its bindings. Hermione sat quietly on the couch. "Why the hell is he doing this to us?! What did we do to deserve this?" he yelled, and in the distance their two year-old son woke up, wailing. Hermione jolted upright and began a quick ascent up the stairs and into the infant's room, picking Remus up in her arms and cradling him gently.
She was humming softly and turned around to see Ron leaning in the doorway, his face downcast. "I'm sorry, love," he whispered, hands in his pockets and tears still fresh on his face.
"Don't apologize, but it has to end sometime, Ronald," Hermione said haughtily. The redhead nodded his agreeance. "I know it's not easy, but we've got to let go. Wherever Harry is, if he's alive, he would have wanted us to let go," she sullenly said. The memory of their raven-haired friend had haunted then for years, and she wasn't going to allow it to destroy their chance at a happy, war-free life.
"Yeah, you're right," he shrugged. "I just don't think I can do it yet, I still need time. He was my best mate for seven years," Ron sighed and then turned his back to his wife and child. "I'll see you in bed," he dragged his feet across the wooden floor and down the corridor. Hermione heard the bedroom door softly open and then close again. She sighed and continued humming to beautiful baby Remus, with hazel eyes and curly red hair that stuck to his scalp. This is why they had to let go, because they had a family they needed to take care of.
*
Out in the Weasley yard, just a few roads down from The Burrow - the original Weasley homestead, floated an invisble figure that had followed the couples short quarrel. He had been there the entire night and much of the afternoon, watching the family go about their business and then sadly looking into Ronald Weasley's breakdown that occurred every year on the same day. The day of Harry Potter's birth, and also the last day of the War. And every year the day after that, Hogwarts hosted, to Hermione's and Professor McGonagall's planning, a celebration of the end of the long War against the Dark Side in which they prevailed with the cost of many lives, most importantly the life of their Saviour.
Suddenly the Invisible figure heard a rustle in the nearby woods. He quietly lowered his broom closer to the ground and went over to it, being paranoid though it was probably a small raccoon of sorts. Instead, another male figure in a long black cloak and platinum blonde hair, unmistakably so, stood up from his hiding place and began to quickly trot off towards the road.
The Invisible Figure immediately followed at a safe distance, alongside the dirt road of the familiar face until he reached a car which was seemingly abandoned on the side of the country street. He got inside, started the engine and drove off at a great speed. The Invisible one followed as quickly as possible, urging the broom forwards with all its speed as they went through a few towns and villages. An hour passed by and then they came upon the city of Manchester, the car drove to a residential neighbourhood and parked in front of the largest house on the street, though still a two storey house with a basement.
Invisible followed the blonde man through the windows of the darkened house, there was one propped open on the upper floor that he quietly slipped in through. He held his broom tight to his body and tip-toed through the upstairs, just as he reached the stairs the blonde man whisked past him without a second thought. He then went into what was seemingly the bathroom and in a moment, the water to the shower was turned on.
Since the way was clear to explore, that is what the Invisible man did. He explored the rooms with a slight headrush, his heart was beating loudly inside of his chest as magical energy surged through his body that begged to get out. He wouldn't allow any of it to escape as he quickly looked through the house in the normal looking, upscale Muggle neighbourhood in Manchester.
Then there came a room, it was upstairs and the last room at the end of the narrow hallway. With curiousity, he opened the door quietly and slipped inside. Behind the door stood something that made him gasp audibly, to his dismay.
The walls of the large study were covered in moving photographs, articles, notes, pages ripped from textbooks, white boards with writings of places and dates on them, peoples names on large blackboard lists with little side notes, and most of all a large timeline that took up the entirity of the east wall, save for a window that broke the timeline in half. The Invisible man heard the water turn off and realized he hadn't much time, he quickly rushed over to a desk in the far corner of the study cluttered with newspapers and pieces of parchments dabbed in ink scribblings. He took a fresh piece of parchment and grabbed the quill, dipping it in its ink bottle he wrote a quick note before running to the closed window and propping it open. He slipped out on his now mounted broom and sat hovering outside, leaving the window purposefully ajar.
The blonde man finished his shower and wrapped a housecoat around his naked body, his moping wet hair fell around his pointed featured face down to his chin in different lengths, accenting his beauty. He thought he heard a rustling in the far end room and with curiousity he walked down towards it to find the door slightly open, and when he stepped inside the papers all taped and tacked to the wall were blowing lightly due to the breeze of the window.
He never opened the window in this room, especially not this room. He sighed with a frown, if there were any danger that would threaten him the wards would've gone off by now. Instead, there was only silence as he stood in the center of his most prized posessions.
A breeze picked up outside and blew into the room, sending a shiver down his spine. A piece of parchment fluttered from the desk to the floor, and the blonde man made his way over to pick it up. And then there scratched on the piece of parchment was the undoubtable chicken scratch writing of the main attraction of his room, silver eyes went wide.
"I will find you, Harry," Draco Malfoy whispered into the night as he walked towards the window and closed it gently, looking out momentarily at the faraway stars.
Clutched in his hand was written; 'I'm closer than you think.'