Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. The plot and original ideas are my intellectual property.
FWG Summer 2006 Horcrux Challenge.
Harry Potter and the Soul's Struggle
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Chapter 1
Admission Fee?
The circular room was oddly quiet. Free of the monotonous tinkery of perpetually moving, swirling silver knick-knacks. Free from the warmth of Phoenix song, the soft chuckle of an ancient man. His possessions lay at Harry's feet, the personal library and silver constructs had been left to him in Dumbledore's will.
The portrait still sat empty, cold against the wall, among the sombre remains of past Headmasters. Harry sat silently in the chair which the ancient sorcerer had taught him from; taught him of Voldemort's life, and of magic. Truthfully, Harry was quite an accomplished duellist for his age, contrary to his performance during the battle in which his mentor had lost his life.
Harry shook his head and picked up the most precious object that was now in his possession – Dumbledore's wand. With it, the Ministry of Magic would be useless to charge Harry with using Underaged Magic – it wouldn't stand in court to persecute a deceased wizard over 150 years of age with breaking such a decree.
'Thirteen inches, Holly and Dragon heartstring' the will had said; its' appearance compared to his own wand was like night and day. Where Harry's wand was smooth and sleek, as unadorned as the day he had received it, Dumbledore's was knotted and worn down, from the pockmarked handle, to the inlaid runic sigils, to the well darkened tip. With a flourish, Harry waved the wand, filling the air with a roaring nimbus of golden light. The wand felt powerful, almost as powerful as Harry's once had, six years ago when it was first bought.
Another flick and the various boxes which surrounded him shrank to the size of a matchbox. A moment later, the Headmaster's office was truly empty, and Harry Potter had left Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he didn't intend to return.
As Harry made his way across the scorched grounds of the castle, he could still, in the distance, see a giant plume of steam – the Hogwarts Express had left not long ago, taking Ron and Hermione with it. With a heavy sigh, Harry stepped across the threshold of the Apparition wards and disappeared with a sharp crack, his thoughts no longer occupied by the lies he had told his friends, but by the phrase, 'Godric's Hollow is located one kilometre south of Castell y Bere, Wales'.
He reappeared in the middle of a cobbled alley; on either side of the narrow path was a grimy looking building of stone and mortar. A chilling fog crawled along the ground, 'Dementors,' thought Harry. As he emerged into the street, Harry noticed that there were many wizards about, judging from the odd combinations of muggle clothing. Their faces were grey and drawn, dully moving towards the same direction.
'Are we really in the real Godric's Hollow mummy?'
'Yes, we are dear,' replied a witch to her daughter.
'Where the Boy-Who-Lived defeated You-Know-Who?' the mother nodded quietly to this.
'Are we going to visit the house mummy?'
'Of course we are, but be quiet, this is a muggle town!' she said drawing her daughter's attention towards Harry with a pointed look.
His mind racing, Harry quickly made his way in the direction most of the wizarding folk were congregating, rudely passing the mother and daughter who had just walked by. As he made his way along a clearly residential area, Harry noticed the disconcerting Muggle-Repelling wards across a single house, which was partly missing its roof. There was a small queue set up at the garden gate, with wizards lined up for quite a long way down the street.
As Harry approached, he noticed the wizard at the gate collecting galleons from the queued wizards and witches before admitting them. Needless to say, Harry's blood boiled at the sight. Harry sped up, foregoing the queue, and drawing his wand.
'What do you think you're bloody doing here?' he all but spat to the man at the gate, his gate.
'I'm sorry sir, but you'll have to join the queue like everyone else, admission to the Ministry of Magic's Historical Godric's Hollow site is two galleons for everyone over the age of eleven,'
'Are you kidding?' Harry screamed, wildly waving towards the house, 'THIS IS MY HOUSE!'
At this point, many people in the crowd seemed to realise who this irate wizard was, and wisely many disapparated right out of the queue. And someone quite official-looking emerged from the home.
The man behind the gate seemed to pale slightly and muttered something about closing the till, grabbing the sack of galleons that was hung from an ornamental statue he quickly disapparated. Harry pushed his way through the gate, as the official looking wizard said rather pompously,
'Now, now, what seems to be the problem here, young mister…'
'Potter,' Harry hissed, 'My name, is Harry James Potter, owner of this property, and you sir, are trespassing.'
An odd tingle surrounded Harry as he spoke this, and he could feel the wards that had been cast by both his father and grandfather as they bound themselves to his blood, shattering the Ministry-wrought preservation charms and wards.
'Ah, um, Mr Potter, I – Er – My name is Cornelius Griswald, I am curator of this museum. How may I help you, uh – today?' the pompous wizard said - even his moustache was pale.
'You may leave my home, immediately, before I am forced to expel you from it.' Harry said, placing himself between the Curator and his home.
The man seemed to think, rather difficultly, for a moment before drawing his wand.
'I am sorry Sir, this house became Ministry property the moment such a historical moment occurred within it, according to Section three, Paragraph five of the Ministry Wartimes Acquisition Act of 1975. I must ask you to leave now before I am forced to notify the Magical Law Enforcement Squad.' The man drew himself up in what he thought to be an intimidating manner.
'No magical person other than myself is to be permitted within the grounds of this estate,' Harry spoke commandingly.
A slight rumbling was heard as the wards bowed to their Master's command. A bright flash propelled about forty people across the low fence which surrounded the garden, which, Harry sadly noted, still held the tyre-marks of a motorbike and footprints of a half-giant. Ignoring the voices from behind him, Harry entered the home he hadn't seen for sixteen years, dreading what he might find inside.
'Bastards,' Harry thought, 'the lot of them! How dare they use this as a tourist attraction.'
Harry seethed as he repeatedly vanished barricades and informational plates,
'Harry Potter's Bottle', 'The Potter Family Crest', 'Lily and James Potter's Master Bedroom'
The house was unnaturally clean, 'probably due to the preservation charms', Harry assumed. The front door hung off its hinges, and there were spell burns across the entire foyer. With an angry sigh, Harry set himself to repairing and righting upturned furniture and fixtures.
---
Harry sat in the small study across from his parent's bedroom, poking and prodding one of the silver instruments he had inherited from Dumbledore. According to one of the books he had also received, it was a Ward Monitor, and it wasn't showing him anything he wanted to see. According to the whirring noise, and red puffs of smoke emitted by the device, the wards surrounding the home had been in decay for quite a while, and would need to be completely recast.
It had been nearly a month since Harry arrived at Godric's Hollow, and he had spent that month engrossed in Dumbledore's private journals, learning obscure spells, arts, and even a couple spells created by the Headmaster himself. He had yet come across anything relating to Horcruxes, but in truth he had only read through three journals, and had several hundred other texts to learn from.
With an angry wave of Dumbledore's wand, Harry sent the Ward Monitor back into the large crate he had taken it from. He had been pouring raw power into the Wards in an effort to keep the decay from advancing since he arrived; unfortunately, according to the Monitor, the wards had begun to decay at an increasingly rapid pace.
With an angry sort of shuffle, Harry made his way through each room in the house, taking with him a few pictures of his parents, a few books and journals of various Potters. When he returned to the study, everything went into his trunk, including the now shrunken chests of Dumbledore's belongings. Fifteen minutes later he had sent Hedwig off with a short note,
Mr Dribbles humbly requests that Mr Moony will meet him in two hours at number 12, and would like to express his extreme displeasure at the state he found his home in. Mr Moony might want to think of some good excuses for not informing Mr Dribbles about this desecration.
Harry had previously found a picture in his old nursery, a wizarding photograph of himself, his father, and the other Marauders. On the back was written in a neat print, 'Mr Dribbles: The newest Marauder,' and indeed, the photo showed an infant Harry drooling quite liberally on a large black dog, while the other three men looked on in glee.
Pulling a travelling cloak over his shoulders, Harry stepped out into the chilly dampness that seemed characteristic of Godric's Hollow. With a couple waves of his wand, reinforcing the Muggle-Repelling Charms, Harry stepped to the edge of the garden. Closing his eyes, Harry raised the wand and focused on the wards, their domed shape became visible in his mind's eye and with a quick jab of the wand they came crashing down. With great care, Harry found the runes that were inscribed upon the garden gate, the ones that were necessary to cast the Fidelius Charm. He tapped them twice, filling them with power and began to chant the incredibly complex spell, pushing all of his will into hiding the property.
'Deflagrate muri tempi et intervallia,' Harry began, watching as an incredible flame sprung up around the edge of the property and began to rise higher. When it reached a height higher than the house stood, Harry continued, 'Etenium dissimulo fidelis arcanum The Potter's Home is located at Number Eight, Redstone Crescent, Godric's Hollow promitta.'
A great boom resounded through the street as the House disappeared from the universe, and the rest of the world moved to fill the empty space it left behind. Harry felt the secret as it wormed its way into his mind, embedding itself within his consciousness. He seemed to pale slightly as the immense magical working impacted itself upon his body, Harry had never expended himself this quickly before – but thankfully, practising powerful spells and incantations over the past month had strengthened his magic sufficiently that it would not completely exhaust him. Now secure in the fact that his home would be waiting for him, with a swirl of his cloak, Harry disapparated with a small pop.
---
Decrepit steps groaned and sunk as heavy leather boots made their way towards the similarly aged door. Harry stopped for a moment to analyze the muggle-repelling wards surrounding Black Manor, confirming their integrity. With a carefully placed movement, Harry tapped the lock with his wand,
'I am Harry Potter, Godson and Heir to Sirius Black. I claim ownership of this home and all contained within.'
Again, an electric tingle encompassed him as nearly two hundred years worth of wards began binding to his blood. Harry shook the eerie feeling for a moment before lifting the serpentine latch, and entering Black Manor.
The oppressive dampness of the Manor filled Harry's senses, and dust swirled around his boots in the dark. With a jab of his wand towards a strand of magic that hung along the walls, gas lamps began to light throughout the home. Another twist and every window in the home opened, the drapes pulling themselves back, allowing the cool July air to clear the staleness of the home. An angry glare to the yellowed portrait of the late Mrs. Black silenced her protest before it began. With hoarse cry of its name, Kreacher appeared – with Dobby following seconds after.
'Kreacher, you are to restore this home to perfect condition, even a spineless worm of a House Elf such as yourself shouldn't be subjected to such filth,' Harry spoke carefully, subtly eyeing Dobby's nervous footwork.
'Yes Master, Kreacher will be doing so – filthy half-blood speaking ill of Mistress' Noble home, oh the shame!' The toothless house-elf croaked softly as he shuffled through the foyer, conjuring a broom and dustpan.
'Is Mister Harry Potter still wanting Dobby to be watching the filthy Kreacher for him?' the other house-elf squeaked from below. Harry absently noticed that Dobby looked slightly worried at this.
'Dobby, would you consent to serving the Potter Family?' Harry said sharply, watching for the reaction of the unusually subdued House-Elf.
'Mister Harry Potter is a most grand wizard sir; but Dobby has been liking his freedom ever so much!' There were tears in Dobby's eyes at this point as he tugged his long ears painfully, 'But if Mister Harry Potter is wanting Dobby, Dobby will be his sir,' he added very quietly, almost forced.
For a moment, Harry considered asking Dobby to become his house-elf, regardless of Hermione's staunch abhorrence of the practice. Turning to make his way to the Drawing room upstairs, he replied,
'If you do enjoy your freedom so, it isn't my place to remove it from you Dobby,' the house-elf wailed at this point, whether in joy or pain, Harry was quite unsure, 'you may return to Hogwarts Dobby, but please send Winky to me, I believe she may be interested in serving a Master once more,'
With a deep bow, and more than a few tears, Dobby disappeared with a sharp crack, leaving Harry alone. When Harry entered the Drawing room, he noticed that the Doxies had re-inhabited the curtains, and likewise most of the Dark Arts objects had somehow returned to the dusty cabinets that lined the walls. A couple sneering portraits watched him from behind dingy frames, as he repelled the doxies that had identified him as a target, they had previously been jarred by the suddenly open windows and drawn drapes.
One of the doxies managed to avoid Harry's Impediment charm and gave him a sharp bite on the ear, its' venomous teeth sinking into flesh. Harry smacked it out of the air with one hand, and swept his wand in a sharp arc, sending a stream of flames from the tip and incinerating the doxies where they repeatedly flew towards the invisible barrier Harry had erected.
'Kreacher!' Harry called, and a sharp crack signalled the House-elf's arrival, 'Clean this up, now.' Harry gestured angrily towards the smouldering piles of doxy bodies that now littered the carpet. Kreacher stared for a moment towards the dead pests, and then to the wand in his Master's hand, the tip still slightly glowing from the incendiary spell it had just used.
With an odd sort of gleeful smile, Kreacher conjured a bucket and a broom and started sweeping up the charred remains; all the while, he continued muttering, 'Yes, Master Potter, Kreacher would be glad to remove the filth from his Most Noble house, yes indeed Master.'
Harry did not however, notice the gleeful looks he was receiving from the servant, and had turned his attention towards the desk at the opposite end of the room. It had originally belonged to Sirius' Grandfather, the one who had been awarded the Order of Merlin. How the desk had returned to its' place was a puzzling mystery indeed, Harry had taken much joy in perfecting Bludgeoning Curses on it with Sirius' wand, and under his tutelage two summers ago - the last he had seen, it was nothing more than broken chunks of sawdust.
Nevertheless, there it stood – pristinely black, from the gothic feet to the ornately carved matching desk set it stood. Harry briefly entertained the idea of rendering the desk into splinters once more, but decided otherwise. A desk was only a desk after all. The unmistakeable crack of apparition reverberated through the room. Harry turned to see that Winky had arrived; still clad in the filthy dress she had worn since being disowned by the Crouch family. Her eyes were sunken and dull, and her small face looked gaunt and stretched.
'Winky, would you consent to serve the Potter Family?'
'Winky is a very bad elf Mister Harry Potter, she is being given cl-clothes!'
'Answer my question Winky,' Harry spoke, surprised that the elf would show such self-loathing.
'Winky is wanting to be a proper elf, Mister Harry Potter.'
'Then you shall be my elf Winky, bound to the Potter Family.' A shiver of magic rippled across Harry's skin as the bond formed, settling itself alongside Kreacher's.
'Help Kreacher restore this home, I want it habitable as soon as possible.'
Winky nodded so hard her teary eyes nearly flew from their sockets, a second later she had disappeared with a soft pop. Shaking his head slightly, Harry quickly turned to the Black Tapestry, if only to confirm the suspicions he'd had for quite some time. For the last month, he had been searching through all Dumbledore's records of Death Eater activities, searching for one with the initials R.A.B; there had been three possible leads, Rodolf Alban Bagman, father of Ludo Bagman and close friend to Augustus Rookwood; Reginald Alden Bulstrode, a noted pureblood and friend of Walden Macnair; and lastly, the supposition Harry was now investigating, Regulus Black - the last Death Eater with at least two of the initials of the person who had stolen Slytherin's Locket from Voldemort, and subsequently one of his Horcruxes.
The tapestry, however did not reveal any middle name for Regulus, instead there appeared to be a shimmering line after his first name. reaching a finger out, he ran it across the small imperfection, feeling for the magic. The distinctive chill of dark magic lingered along the thread, the only place where the tapestry was marred, apart from the singed holes where disinherited members once appeared. He had come to a roadblock, Dark magic was notoriously difficult to dispell and Harry had neither the knowledge, nor the experience in such a field.
The only conclusion Harry could come to of course, was that Regulus had originally been named after his Uncle Alphard, who was later disinherited and removed from the tapestry, not wanting to ruin her favourite son's status, old Walburga Black had hidden the offending name with a blood based charm.
Intrigued at the history that the tapestry contained, Harry began to trace Sirius' Lineage, noticing quite a few familiar names: Crabbe, Flint, Bulstrode, McMillan. Confused and slightly disgusted that Sirius' mother had married her cousin, Harry traced the line of Pollux Black, which included Sirius's mother, the father of Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa, a burnt hole, and Dorea Black. Harry froze for a second, his finger tracing the double golden line which joined Dorea to her husband, Charlus Potter. Blinking a couple times to confirm what his eyes told him, Harry traced the thread downwards, to a single name, with a picture of a bespectacled, darkhaired boy of about 11, James Potter. Son of Dorea Black and Charlus Potter. Feeling a little dizzy, Harry fell to the floor, staring at the boy looking back at him, barely noticing that Winky had allowed Remus entry through the wards. James Potter was a Black.
---
Harry sat quietly, focusing on scribing the proper runes for his ritual. It had been two days since he found out that not only was he the last Potter, but among the eldest Generation of Black cousins. The circle in which he sat, drawn with salt and empowered by various runes painted in his own blood, was one which every pureblooded heir used on the eve of their seventeenth birthday. The ritual was used to summon the inheritance that they would be granted through magic, for the Potter line, Harry knew that he would recieve the signet to become Head of the family, there was no other who could claim it.
The Black line however, was quite an enigma. After taking a closer look at the tapestry, he noticed the possible Heirs to the line, now that Sirius and Regulus were both dead. Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom, Bill Weasley, and Nigellus Burke. Draco, and Bill were born a generation removed from Harry and Neville. Indeed, Harry was more closely related to Draco's Grandparents than to Draco himself. Bill's grandmother Cedrella was disinherited for marrying Septimus Weasley, so it was unlikely that he had inherited anything from the Black Family.
Nigellus Burke was the eldest, having been born in 1925, was the only living grandson of Phineas Nigellus Black. It was again unlikely he would have inherited much, being born of a Black daughter, and being so old.
Neville was unlikely to inherit because his 'gran' Augusta Longbottom was born Augusta Figg, elder sister to Harry's old babysitter Arabella, a squib.
Harry knew he would inherit something, he just didnt know what. Finishing the last runic sigil, Harry took close watch of the clock on the opposite wall, it was now 11:58, two minutes until his seventeenth birthday. The seventeenth birthday was quite an event for a Wizard, the coming-of-age was universal amongst Wizarding societies. Inheritance Rituals were performed, Family Vaults were opened, and marriages were arranged.
Those were strictly legal reasons of course, the magical reasons were simple – seventeen was a powerful year, it was the year where one's magic finished fluctuating, and lost any of its flaws. It became ingrained within one's soul, within their body – this generally allowed for more refined spellcasting, in some cases more powerful and in some cases wandless magic became possible. Harry had no doubt of being able to do some wandless magic, he had done it before – two or three years prior actually.
As the clock struck twelve, Harry felt a great force gripping him, similar to the feeling of apparition, quickly squeezing and releasing. Small tingling pain sprung up at various points of his body, his knobbly knees, the scars on his arm from the Basilisk bite, and from Voldemort's ressurection, behind his eyes, deep within his chest, and finally at the scar. The throbbing pain became greater as the giant hand squeezed tighter and tighter, sweat began to pour off his body as the bloody runes began to shimmer, glowing in the thick magic that permeated the air. Harry barely heard himself chanting through the rapid pulses of magic, and vaguely noticed that he was rocking back and forth,
'Ego assero cognatus, progenitor James Arcturus Potter prosapia.'
Harry felt the familiar Potter magic as is began to filter through him, removing the painful flaws that were now obvious to him, strengthening the connection to his magic, judging him worthy of his name.
'Ego assero cognatus, progenitor Dorea Elladora Black prosapia.'
A new magic began to course through his body. Cold, unrelenting and dark, aiding the Potter magic in its' task with an immaterial sneer; removing the imperfections, giving him greater power. An oddly familiar part of the magic swirled around him, rather than through him, accepting him as family. It gave a familiar barking laugh as the rest of the Black magic indignantly complied to the wishes of its most recent Heir's magic.
'Progenitum progenerium ego voco cognomen patrius familiaris!'
The pain subsided as the magic finished its' task, Harry was now a true Wizard. With a last comforting swirl, the two magics left the circle, coalescing into five ghost-like spirits. A regal looking woman with jet black hair, standing confidently beside a smiling man with wind-swept brown hair and glasses, she eyed him with interest, and nodded to him with a smile, removing from her hand a silver ring. Finely wrought like spindles of a spider's web, she set it upon the ground before her.
The man gave Harry a wink, and placed beside the ring a golden watch, its' filigree chain pooled beneath the open face. He stood back beside the woman, linking her fingers with his own, the two disappeared in a shimmer of golden light, leaving the remaining three.
The ghostly figure of Lily Potter gave an enormous smile as she held on to the arm of her husband. James Potter also smiled, though it was a sad one, they placed before them a delicate silver locket and a golden set of squared spectacles; they looked towards the last figure. Sirius Black placed before him the clasp from his cloak, a heavy pewter hook-and-eye in the shape of two dragon claws. He jumped up and playfully tackled James, Lily picked them up off the floor and they disappeared in another shimmer of light, her ghostly laughter filling the room.
Still worn out from the ritual, Harry blinked back tears, shaking his head as he broke the circle and cleaned it with a sweep of his wand. The appearance of spirits during this ritual were common, but it was usually a long dead bunch of relatives, ancestors centuries old – not your parents and grandparents. Harry resignedly picked up the heirlooms left to him, he knew what each was – the magic had told him. A musical trilling filled the air, and a burst of fire signalled the arrival of a Phoenix, its' soothing song filling Harry with strength. The majestic bird circled the room before landing on the back of a chair.
'Fawkes?' Harry whispered, shuffling tiredly closer. The bird whistled in agreement, allowing Harry to softly stroke his neck before folding his wing over his head to sleep.
'I suppose you'll be staying with me from now on?' Another chirp of agreement, 'I'll have to get a perch for you then. I'm going to bed. Goodnight Fawkes.' The bird gave another trill, softer though as the bird drifted to sleep. Harry shook his head slightly and brought the heirlooms to his bedroom.
After securing the items in a locked chest, Harry collapsed onto his bed in the Master Bedroom of Grimmauld Place, vaguely noting that the House no longer silently protested his presence. Harry drifted to sleep, dreaming of his family.
---
Harry sat quietly in his large wingback chair. The Drawing Room had quickly become his favourite, a place of solitude – although Harry hadn't actually had any contact with other people since Remus had left a week ago. He was dressed in his finest robes, outfitted by Madam Malkin herself two days ago.
It was Bill and Fleur's Wedding today, the Potter signet watch was fastened to his waistcoat – the golden crest hung from the chain's fastener – slightly radiating the comforting warmth of Potter magic, the Black signet ring on his left hand – its' web-like structure humming contently with the crisply cool Black magic, Sirius' cloak clasp fastened at his throat - charmed with a powerful shield, and the Glasses of Godric Gryffindor sat precariously upon his nose.
The glasses had been willed to Godric's second cousin Hralf Potter, who was notorious for his bad eyesight, enchanted by Gryffindor himself to bring magic into the visible spectrum, showing dormant spells, wards, and curses as well as peircing through invisibility spells.
In his hands, Harry held the locket he had recieved from his mother. It was puzzling, why his mother had given him a locket with pictures of herself and Petunia as young women. It was completely muggle, no spells or charms had gone into it, but it seemed to hold sentimental value for her. To Harry, it was nothing but a reminder that the woman who had ignored him for nearly half his life was his mother's sister. A silent disappointment in what could have been, what should have been his life. With a sigh, Harry pocketed the locket and pulled on his dragon-hide boots, buckling them securely. The heavy heels made deep thunking noises as Harry walked down the stairs, nodding to the silenced portrait of Sirius' mother with a joyful,
'I'll be home later tonight Aunt Willy, I've some Weasleys to reinherit.' The portrait sputtered angrily, trying to scream through the silencing charm to no effect.
Harry grabbed a pointed hat from the coat rack, and pulled his cloak closer around his shoulders. He stepped from the house, and tapped the door with his wand, locking the wards. Harry walked past the front gate, and with a click of his heel disapparated.
Privet Drive had been oddly quiet for the past month, most residents noticed that the Potter boy hadn't returned to the Dursleys as he did every summer, 'Good riddance' most of them said, 'that Dudley is bad enough without Potter here directing him.' The only major disturbance had been on the night of the thirty-first, someone had set off a bunch of fireworks across the street, bathing the area in red light, it had left a smell of burnt ozone that still lingered. It was this smell that worried Harry Potter as he appeared at the end of the front walk of Number Four.
A twitch of the wand in his pocket cast a Notice-Me-Not charm around his person. Harry drew his wand – Dumbledore's wand – and tapped the side of his glasses, activating the enchantment. A shambled dome surrounded the house he had grown up in, the runes scribed along the stone pathway were worn down and weak, Harry tapped each of the runes filling them with power and whispered an incantation, erecting temporary wards that would feed off the runic energy, blocking apparition, entry, and portkey access. They would last for a month at the most if left alone. Harry deactivated the enchantment on his glasses with a thought, and replaced his wand within his jacket. Three knocks on the door later, Petunia had appeared at the door, and nearly slammed it in his face.
'Get out, we were told you'd never return! You're not wanted here!' she hissed angrily.
'Aunt Petunia, I need to come inside – we have things to discuss.' Harry said stubbornly.
She opened the door and shooed him inside, looking around as though someone would be reporting the visit to the tabloids.
'Fine, but take off that rediculous hat... the cape too,' she squeaked, just noticing his attire.
Harry simply nodded and complied, pulling his cloak over his arm, and taking the hat off, placing it upon the coffee table infront of him. He took a seat upon the sofa, waving his wand in an intricate pattern, casting various privacy charms – much to Petunia's chagrin. When he put his wand down, he nodded at her and began to speak,
'You aren't safe. I've put up some temporary protections around the house but they won't last for more than a few weeks. Voldemort,' Petunia blanched with a gasp, 'is after me. They killed Professor Dumbledore in May, i've been in hiding since.'
Petunia gaped like a fish for a moment, holding her head in her hands. 'What can I do? You freaks have so much power. Destroying without thought, blowing people up, killing with a word. I can't defend against that!' Harry was quiet, debating what to do. He shifted in his seat, and felt the locket's weight against his leg. Pulling it from his pocket, he held it open in his hand, staring at the happy faces within, ignoring Petunia's curious look.
'You need to move. Leave the country, go on an extended vacation, sell the house. I'll...' His mother's face stared up towards him, smiling alongside her sister, 'I'll transfer some money to your account, enough to buy a new house somewhere. You can tell Vernon it was a gift from my mother for watching over me.'
Petunia nodded carefully, surprised and angered that her waif of a nephew had that kind of money to throw around. 'What if they do find us?'
Harry looked thoughtful, still staring at the locket in his hands. 'Fawkes,' he called quietly. A burst of fire made Petunia jump as the Phoenix appeared in her living room, settling comfortably on Harry's shoulder.
'Call for Fawkes, he is a phoenix and can bring the three of you directly to me, or me to you.'
'I don't... why are you doing this?' Harry stood, donning his cloak and hat. A twirl of his wand removed the privacy charms. He stepped across the room to the mantle, where a recent family portrait sat in a gilt frame. He placed the locket, open and facing the room infront of the portrait. He turned to Petunia, who was now standing,
'Goodbye Aunt Petunia. Call for Fawkes when you get settled again. I'll need to set up protections for your new home,' he smiled weakly, glancing around the room, 'Let's go Fawkes.' The two disappeared with a flash of flame. Harry didn't hear his Aunt's passing words as she held the locket in her hands tearily, gazing upon the face of the sister she so resented.
'I'm proud to be your Aunt, Harry.'
---
Author's Note: I hope you like it, sorry about the scene breaks, the button I usually use doesn't work anymore to insert the line, so I've gone back and put in a few dashes. The story will get darker, and I'm working on the second chapter right now.
Avitus