Hey! This is my first story and I am so excited to share it with all of you! I am a huge Harry Potter fan, or you could call me a potterhead, whichever, and my only task here is to keep the Harry Potter flame alive. Now that the books and movies are over, sob, us fanfictioners is all Harry Potter has left! I had a lot of fun reading some of your stories, which were all amazing, and I thought that I should try writing one of my own. Well now I have! I hope to update every two weeks with a new chapter, but that depends on how busy my schedule is. Well enough with my rambling, here is the first chapter to my first fanfiction! Enjoy!
Chapter 1
The man was chained to the old, wooden chair in the center of the cold, empty, square room; bound so tightly he couldn't flex a muscle. Every time he tried to struggle against the chains binding him in place, they tightened their hold on him magically so that he couldn't even breathe; forming deep cuts and bruises in his arms, legs, and chest. Even in the faint light the bruises, blood, and scars were still visible all over his body as though he had been tortured for days on end. He was obviously famished and parched, as his ribs were visibly protruding beneath from his skin, and his throat looked dry. After what seemed like hours of struggling to loosen the chains keeping him captive, the man gave up and hung his head low, his white blonde hair glinting in the dim light of the cold, desolate room.
Faint footsteps echoed, as the person making them drew nearer. The man in the chair tensed his head raised toward the doorway instinctively. His grey eyes shone with fear, which he immediately hid behind his stoic expression. He stared earnestly at the doorway, which was the only opening in the room. A woman appeared; her traveling cloak looked worn, and her eyes tired. She held up her wand, which was lit up at the tip illuminating her body and face slightly in the darkness. By the light, you could see the woman's flawless, curly brown hair that fell to her mid-chest, and her face, which was covered in dirt and blood. The moment her glistening brown eyes found the man's grey ones, both pairs widened in shock and bewilderment and latter's in relief as well. He was safe; at least for now.
The woman stared at the man's bare chest, and saw a long scar from his shoulder to his hip. His pants were also completely soaked in blood, which she had no doubt was his own. Slowly the woman began to back out of the room holding her wand up, this way and that to see more of the empty room, thinking that something had to be in there other than the man in front of her. However, to her dismay, the cold, stone walls were completely blank and empty. There was nothing there but her, the man on the chair bound by chains, and the four bare stone walls looming threateningly around her. The only opening in the small room was the door through which she had just walked through.
"Granger?" the man spoke, his croak barely audible. It took every ounce of his strength to speak and admit his next words he had to. She had finally reached the doorway and was about to turn to leave, when his strained voice echoed through the barren room. "Wait!" he called raising his right hand toward her, after a failed attempt to lift his other arm without inflicting pain upon himself. His voice was becoming stronger as he seemed to regain his voice after weeks of not speaking. "I need your help! I know we aren't really friends but I…."
"Exactly, we aren't friends. You didn't need me until now, and you don't need me now either." The woman spoke back, keeping her face as unemotional as possible. She desperately avoided his pleading eyes by keeping hers focused on wherever her wand led her; trying to find anything she could in the room, not believing it was truly empty. Not believing this man was truly being tortured or imprisoned. Thinking it was all a trap; a trick intended to capture her, or hurt her, in some way. She didn't know what it was, but she did know one thing; she wasn't going to fall for the trick.
The man stared back at Hermione speechless. "I-I-I don't understand. You're supposed to be kind and brave like a Gryffindor. Why –"
"I am kind and brave like a Gryffindor, but not to people like you. Not to Slytherins who used to be Death Eaters a little more than three years ago. You tried to kill Harry, Ron, and I multiple times throughout the years and now you want me to save you? Never." She spat back, her anger rising within her as turned to trudge out of the room, leaving the man behind to his lonesome.
"Hermione, please!" He begged startling even himself by using her first name. "I need you, you're my only hope… Please!" His voice became increasingly louder with each word, as though making her not able to avoid him no matter how far away she became from him.
Hermione who had turned with her mouth agape in shock, at hearing her first name from one of her enemies, immediately turned back around toward the door. And with a voice so quiet the man could barely hear her she said, "I stand by my word. I can't help you. I'm sorry." And with that she walked brusquely out the door to the busy street outside not an ounce of regret anywhere within her. Her task was complete, all she had been told to do was go in the building, look around, and get out. Her job as a Magical Law Enforcement Agent was not to stop the crimes, only to discover them and send the Aurors, like Harry, after them. She had done her job; she had investigated. Nowhere in that list was it said that she had to rescue her enemies.
When Hermione arrived outside she looked around warily. Rain was falling quietly all around her in little droplets, illuminating all her surroundings in a shiny glow as they made contact with the asphalt. Little explosions of water droplets bounced all around her, and before she knew it, she was soaked to the bone. She quickly pulled out her black, muggle umbrella so as to blend in with all the passersby around her, bustling to where they needed to be. All of them were in rain jackets, crouched down low, holding an umbrella over their heads. Most of them were businessmen carrying briefcases that held documents that couldn't get wet. All of them were obviously rushing from one place to another, late, as usual.
The busy street scurried all around her, making her feel slow and out of place among the cacophonous stampede of people and cars. The traffic was terrible and the upset drivers were honking violently at one another, even when there was no reason to. All the buildings in the surrounding area were either cozy, little restaurants with apartments above them or skyscrapers with windows from top to the bottom. The latter being the more likely. They were obviously office buildings for the muggles living nearby, or in apartments on the upper floor of some of the businesses. While she looked around to make sure she was not being followed, or for any sign of danger, numerous people ambled right into her, not even pausing to apologize or see if she was okay. Then again, she was not in London anymore. She was in a completely different world; New York. But not only was she in New York, she was in the muggle section of New York, on the farthest side away from the wizarding territory as possible. She seemed so out of place. She couldn't imagine how the pureblood, she couldn't even think his name, felt about not only being here, but also being tortured here.
A single tear wove its way down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly, not understanding what had overcome her. That man did not deserve her mourning; he had made her years at Hogwarts miserable. He'd called her a 'mudblood' practically daily, and constantly made fun of her for her looks, her studies, and her friends. He had joined the Death Eaters and Voldemort, and tried to kill or capture Harry, Ron, and her constantly throughout the war, and even in the years before he had joined the Dark ranks. He was an evil man, and he did not deserve being saved. He deserved every moment of his capture and torture. He even deserved death as far as she was concerned.
Yet there was a nagging feeling inside her that something was off. He was bound to the chair so tightly he couldn't even move an inch. He had been full of cuts, blood, bruises, and even multiple scars ran their way down his body. And his left arm, which held his Dark Mark, seemed hurt and frail. He wasn't able to move it at all without wincing and causing himself pain. He seemed so fragile and broken, and most importantly he seemed in need of help. He needed anyone's help. Anyone he could get. He was probably relieved to have seen Hermione; delighted even, that he might finally have a change in luck. The boy she knew from school was rude and full of himself. He thought he could do everything better and faster than anyone else, just because of his blood status. He was so sure of himself and thought that no one would ever, or could ever for that matter, be better than him, or accomplish more than him. He would never have asked her for help, he had too much pride. Something had changed inside him, or he was desperate for help; so desperate he would even ask her to assist him.
Also who was holding him captive? Voldemort was gone and all of the known Death Eaters, who weren't dead, were in Azkaban because he, the man now being captured, had betrayed them and given away their locations. Who was left that would inflict such pain upon people? And why?
Hermione's head went back to the pained look on the man's face as he asked for her help. His one last pleading cry echoed inside her head. His sparkling grey eyes shining with hope and relief seeing her walk through the doorway. 'Hermione please! I need you, you're my only hope… Please!' The man she had known from school would never have been able to swallow his pride and ask her for help. So he had to have really been suffering and needing someone's, anyone's, help to plead the way he had to her or he had changed entirely. Either way, she had to figure out what was going on. Hermione froze in her tracks and looked back at the way she had come, a calculating look on her face, trying to figure out what to do. Slowly she began to walk back toward the man she had hated practically her whole life. The moment she stepped through the barrier of the building where the pureblood was being held captive, the sun came out from behind the clouds and a small silver lining was visible. She knew she had made the right decision.
"NO! Hermione! NO!" Harry awoke screaming. He was drenched in cold sweat and his breath was ragged. He hadn't had a dream like this in nearly two and a half years since he had killed Voldemort, and he was terrified as to what this meant. He had had nightmares about Voldemort since he had defeated him, but they had never been this vivid. They always depicted terrifying moments from the war, and summoned his deepest fears of the moments. They usually depicted the look on Voldemort's face when he 'murdered' Harry with the killing curse for the second time in his life. That face was one of the worst mental pictures he had ever had that would never leave his mind. He had woken up shaken from those dreams, but never like he was now. In addition, those dreams had stopped mere months after the war, when things had calmed down, and Harry realized it was time to move on from the war, and begin the reconstruction after the war; and Harry, being the hero, had to lead them and show them the way. He let go of the nightmares, and stepped into his place. And ever since they had vanished; gone off to haunt another poor soul. Until now.
His whole body was rigid and shook as he reached toward the bedside table to retrieve his glasses. His hand scraped against something hard and his finger was cut open. Blood poured out of the deep cut he pulled his wand out of his pajama pocket and said "Accio." His glasses soared through the air and met his good hand. He quickly put on his glasses and stared at his bedside table to see what had cut his finger so deeply. His eyes met with the fragment of the mirror he had received from Sirius in his fifth year at Hogwarts. The mirror with which Sirius and James had communicated with so often with when they were in separate detentions. The mirror that Aberforth had used to save him not only once, but twice, with throughout the war. The mirror that was all he had left from the godfather he loved and missed sourly and thought about on a regular basis. All the little things, reminded him of the man. There was no getting away from it.
Sirius, he thought painfully. He missed his godfather more than anyone else who had died. He missed him more than Tonks, Lupin, Fred, or any of his other acquaintances, who had perished either in the war or by the hands of Voldemort and the Death Eaters. He was the parent Harry had never had; the parent Harry had dreamed of having his whole life. Sirius was the one who had loved him unconditionally; the one who Harry could share everything with, even his deepest fears and darkest secrets. The one who had lived off of rats in a cave in Hogsmeade in order to be able to see Harry and keep an eye on him during his fourth year, while he was in grave danger in the Triwizard Tournament. He would have been the first one Harry would have told about this dream, were he still here, and he was sure that Sirius would have known exactly what to do about it. He always did. He was the one who had been the family that Harry never had. Harry Potter may have been the chosen one, but Sirius was Harry's chosen one; his chosen favorite person in the world.
I knew I should have kept the Resurrection Stone. Harry thought to himself. Then he shook the thought out of his head, remembering what had happened to the second brother and his bride-to-be in the tale of the three brothers. He also remembered the proud look on Dumbledore's face in the portrait above the headmaster's desk at Hogwarts, when he had told him how he didn't wish to keep any of the Hallows other than that which was already his.
Dumbledore, he thought grimacing over the thought. He vaguely saw in the back of his mind, the broken body of the headmaster falling off of the Astronomy Tower on that night in his sixth year. The man always had wise advice and was always willing to help Harry no matter what it was Harry needed. He wished he could see his portrait and tell him about the dream. Since Sirius was gone, he would be one of the only ones who would know what was happening to him. He should probably just go and ask Professor McGonagall if he could have a private word with his portrait. His thoughts ambiguously wandered to wondering how Professor McGonagall was coping in the remaking of Hogwarts, as the new headmaster after Professor Snape had died tragically in the war.
Snape, Harry almost began to cry at the thought of the man. The man he had utterly hated his whole life, turned out to be the man who had tried to raise him like a son. To make sure he was well and alive throughout his years at Hogwarts. The man who had loved his mother so deeply, he had risked his life twenty-four-seven, against the darkest wizard in the world to make sure Harry, the son of the man he hated most in the world, would stay alive. All because he had his mother's, the woman he loved, eyes. Harry immediately shook his head to clear it of all thoughts. This clearly was turning out to be a bad day. He had only been awake mere minutes and he was already almost in tears about three deceased men that meant the world to him. He had to focus on his dream. He had to focus on Hermione. His thoughts continued to travel this way and that, seeing parts of the dream and lingering on the look on Hermione's face when she decided to go back and help her enemy.
She, unlike the three men he missed sourly, was alive and in need of help. What was Dumbledore's advice on that matter? "Don't pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and above all, those who live without love." He needed to heed his advice, and not pity the dead, but his friend in danger. His friend who might be dead by now for all he knew. He had to save her, even if it meant just rescuing her body from that horrid place.
A storming stampede of steps woke Harry from his reverie and he shook his head in order to regain his composure and remember his dream. "Harry!" three voices screamed simultaneously as three of his friends raced into the room, wand in the air in case of danger.
"Harry," Ginny repeated. "What's wrong? We heard you screaming all the way downstairs. Are you okay?" Her eyes shone with fear, and she immediately sighed with relief when she saw that he was neither under attack nor severely injured.
Harry looked up at the eager faces of his friends, which he practically considered his family. They had all gone to school together, though some in different years, and Harry had become very close to all of them. He had lived with their family for most of the summer each summer, so as to escape his terrible muggle family, the Dursleys. He knew them all so well that he could tell when anything was bothering them, or when they were in need of either space or help. They could read him in exactly the same way. They all continued to look down at him, worry filled eyes, waiting for him to talk, knowing it was hard for him, whatever it was he had to say.
Harry looked at Ron to see what he thought of the situation, and what advice he might have in his eyes. When his eyes fell upon Ron, he saw he looked his usual self, in his long black cloak and his red hair neatly combed down as he always did for work. Being the Minister of Magic's assistant and a worthy part of the Golden Trio, he had to look tiptop everyday. He stood tall and proud as he always did these days, mostly for the press for they followed him everywhere he went, but also so that he would not have to show how he felt about letting Hermione out alone on a mission without any help. Even though he knew it was her job as a Magical Law Enforcement Officer to go on these missions. He had argued with her for hours before she hit the mark by saying, "We are over Ron! You need to stop worrying over me like a new mother! I'm not yours anymore so get over it!" Ron had been hurt for days afterward, and Harry was afraid as to how he would take the news. Would he be worried? Or would he not care after how she treated him? When his eyes found Ron's once again, he saw his eyes showed fear, but they also showed welcoming, he was ready to listen to his best friend no matter what he had to say.
Harry's eyes traveled onward to Ginny, Ron's sister and Harry's girlfriend. She stood directly beside him; her eyes showing fear and concern for the man she had loved since they were children. She was still in her Harpies pajamas, as she had awoken only just shortly before she had heard Harry screaming, but still looked as beautiful as ever. Her faultless red hair hung just below her waist, framing her unblemished face. Her soft, mocha-colored eyes continued to gleam at him with a mixture of fear and love, staring right into Harry's.
Harry gently tore his eyes away from Ginny's and looked at George, the remaining Weasley twin. His shirt was worn and his pants were far too short but he seemed as though he didn't even notice, or if he did, he didn't care the slightest. His unruly red hair was messy and long enough to cover his missing ear so that no one would notice its absence. Even though he was proud of his battle scar, whenever he saw it he remembered Fred at his side laughing about him being 'holy.' Consequentially, George's eyes were red from crying; no doubt about his deceased twin, Fred. Even after almost three years he had never gotten over his twin's death. Even through his sadness, Harry could see the fear in his eyes.
The three had concluded that since Harry wasn't hurt or attacked he had had another dream. Harry saw the realization in their eyes, one by one as they studied him; first in Ron, who knew him best, then in Ginny, and finally in George. Harry looked down to study himself wondering how it was so obvious. The white sheets on his bed were holding on, only by one flimsy corner of the mattress, the rest being torn off no doubt from his restless sleep. His blanket was sitting over his legs in a messy bundle, and his pillow was completely on the floor next to the bed. Harry himself looked even worse than he had thought possible after having a dream. His grey nightshirt was completely drenched in cold sweat, and his hair was even messier than usual. He looked in the mirror on the far side of the room, and saw the wild look in his eyes mixed in with fear. He quickly composed himself, and looked back at his friends.
He saw more realizations cross their eyes as they continued to think on the situation until Harry had the strength to speak. They knew it wasn't just a nightmare, because he didn't scream or wake in cold sweat when he had those, and he hadn't had a dream where he had in years. After his fifth year he had learned to control it slightly but it still came throughout his sixth and seventh years whether while he was awake or asleep. However since he had defeated Voldemort, there had been no prickling in his scar nor any bad dreams. He had finally felt like a regular person, or as regular as a wizard can be. Until now that he had this dream.
Ginny and Ron seemed to reach the conclusion that something was definitely wrong first and both stared straight into his eyes to find any more clues they could. Harry felt terrible for leaving them in the dark while he held so much valuable information, especially when it was about their dear friend, Hermione. But his mouth seemed to be frozen, his jaw glued in place.
He tore his eyes away from Ginny's once again, unable to find the words to speak about his dream. Parts of it still confused him and he didn't want to give them any misleading information. He looked around the room in order to avoid their questioning, worried gazes.
The room he was sharing with Ron in the Burrow was messy as usual. They had too much stuff on their mind with work, relationships, and helping out with the recovery after the war, to worry about the state of their room. They had had lead roles in the war and people looked to them for support. Though the room was messy, one could still make out the furniture inside it. There were two beds; one on each side of the room, and next to each of them was a small bedside table where they store their personal possessions. In the middle of the room there was a rug on the bare floor and lots of their belongings strewn across it. Their walls were plastered with papers ranging from posters of their favorite quiditch teams, to pictures of them with their friends. There was even a giant poster over the head of Harry's bed with a large picture of Harry and the words "The Chosen One Saves the World!" plastered across his chest. Ron had put it up there as a joke with a Permanent Sticking Charm, as Sirius had done in his room in Grimauld Place, so Harry had no way to remove it. There was also the mirror in which Harry had recently looked in the middle of the room. Both boys had said they had no need for a mirror, but Molly had insisted that it was necessary. They had press after them constantly, and they had to look their best for the paper. Even though the boys wouldn't admit it to Molly, they used the mirror constantly on their way out of the house.
"Harry," Ginny said gently, waking him from his reverie once again, trying to catch his gaze. "You can tell us, you know. We want to help you." As she finished speaking, she tenderly reached out for his hand. It was then that she noticed the blood and deep cut on his finger running down his arm and onto his bed sheets. "Harry your bleeding!" Ginny yelped exasperated. "You should have told us! How did this happen?" She immediately pulled out her wand, sat on the edge of his bed, and began healing his cut.
"I cut my finger on Sirius's mirror when I was reaching for my glasses." Harry mumbled quietly. "Thanks." He added to Ginny with a small smile.
She nodded in return and kept hold of his hand still staring deep in his eyes.
"Hmm-mm" Ron cleared his throat loudly. "I told you I didn't mind you dating Ginny, but that doesn't mean I want to see it." Ron said.
"Like I would listen to what you told me. If I like a guy, I won't come to you asking if I have your permission to date them." Ginny added hotly starting to rise to her feet.
"Well he is my best friend, I mean don't you girls have some girl code rule about that. He is –" Ron started also clenching his fists and taking challenging steps toward her.
"Stop it you two." George said, not even looking at them, a pained look on his face. Usually at a time like this he or Fred would have cracked a joke to lighten the tension in the room, but since Fred had died George seemed to be in a world of his own, where jokes reminded him too much of his brother, and seriousness was the only way to go. Many people were surprised that he still ran Weasley's Wizard Wheezes without his brother, but he said that not to do so would tarnish his brother's memory. He seemed to name almost all of the newest merchandise he created after Fred.
George sighed heavily and shook his head obviously struggling internally with memories of his brother. "Why were you screaming, Harry? We heard you all the way downstairs and thought something had happened. Now that I see that you weren't attacked I'm guessing you had another dream. But you haven't had those in years so I don't know what to think. I mean he is dead right? I mean, this time he's dead for-for good? Your scar isn't hurting is it?" George rambled on terrified of what Harry might answer if he stopped. The other three in the room looked at George sadly. They all missed Fred too, but it was nothing like what George felt. They all knew that he was wondering whether Fred had died in vain, whether Voldemort wasn't really gone.
Harry couldn't withhold what he had seen in his dream any longer after seeing the look on George's face when he finished his rambling. He took a deep breath and spoke one word, "Hermione."
"Moine?" Ron said in shock, fear rising in his eyes. "What do you mean Mione? What's wrong with her?" Obviously even after she had told him to sod off and that she didn't want anything to do with him, he still cared about her. At least Harry wouldn't have to convince him to help him save her. He seemed like he would be the first one to jump up and rescue her no matter the cost. In other words, he still loved her, like he did before. Even though he did cheat on her with Lavender and broke her heart in the process. Ron stared at Harry eagerly awaiting any information that could help him save her.
Ginny's mouth was also open in shock, and she opened and closed it trying to find the ability to speak what was on her mind. She eventually settled on looking worriedly at Harry hoping he would see the question behind her gaze.
George didn't look any better. His eyes were filled with fear once again and he said one simple word, "Where?"
"I don't know."Harry answered, angry with himself for not knowing.
"What is she doing? What happened?" Ron asked.
Harry looked back at Ginny and saw she was still struggling to even speak. Then he looked down at his hand, the one not holding Ginny's, and spoke, "I don't know that either."
"Here we go again. It's just like the bloody diadem of Ravenclaw all over again. We don't know where or what or anything." Ron ranted angrily. Silence followed and Ron seemed to fume more the longer he had to wait.
"I realize it isn't much to go on." Harry began. "But –"
"That is nothing to go on!" Ron snapped back. "Damn it! Now I know how Seamus felt in the Room of Requirement. I feel useless and –"
"Ron!" Ginny chastised accusingly. "He is doing the best he can! You're not helping him with your temper so calm down! Can't you see this is hard on him? Or is your big head blocking even Harry from you?" Ron looked as though he wanted to answer but Ginny beat him to the punch by adding, "It's no wonder Hermione wanted nothing to do with you. You're a disgusting piece of rubbish if I ever saw one. You're a self-centered, arrogant prat." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harry flinch at the word that had so often been used to describe his father. She shot him an apologetic glance and continued to chastise Ron. "And you have the most unbearable temper. For heaven's sake, you're even yelling at your best friend, when he's trying to give you information on how to save her. So shut your bloody mouth and listen. Damn it, Ron! Really is it so fucking hard?" She gavehim one of her famous death glares and didn't let her gaze waver from his pained face.
Harry knew that if Molly had heard Ginny's little speech she would have grounded the girl for life, and Harry was suddenly glad the plump witch wasn't in the room. He put a mental note to talk to her about her word choice later, so that she wouldn't slip when Molly was around. The wounded look on Ron's face killed him, but at least she had gotten him to shut up. When Ron finally got the courage to speak after Ginny's obvious intention to insult him, he barely had time to open his mouth before another look from Ginny silenced him. She regained her composure, and turned to Harry. Softly she said, "Go on, Harry."
Harry quietly spoke again, "I think she mentioned muggle New York, but I don't know where in New York. I remember the place and buildings exactly, but I didn't see any building numbers or street names." Harry kicked himself mentally; he had been so worried about Hermione that he hadn't bothered to look at her surroundings much. She was in danger, he knew that much, and when he got the material to save her, he didn't even look at it.
"Well that's a start," said Ginny consolingly. She knew exactly what was going on in Harry's head.
"Yeah," George added, understanding Harry needed to be comforted. "We can ask around in her department to see where she was sent in New York, and go from there until Harry sees a place he recognizes."
The three seemed to nod in agreement, but Ron still looked outraged. "That will take way too long. We need something faster and better. Any ideas?" Silence followed once again as they all stared down at their hands, not knowing what to say. None of them wanting enrage the temperamental red-head anymore than he already was. It turned out that staying silent wasn't a much better option though. Ron was staring them all down, daring them to say something, anything, to help him with his dilemma. Anything that could help him solve his predicament; and when they didn't speak, he was just more enraged thinking that they weren't even trying.
Out of the blue Ron looked up at the other three and bellowed, "Well then how the bloody hell are we supposed to find her?"
I really want some feedback on how you think it is! I am so excited to see what you have to say. If you really think it sucks, please tell me, but also tell me why. If you liked it, which I really hope you did, tell me why and just flatter me please. Every girl loves flattery! jk... well not really. Thank you so much for taking your time to read this! I hope you stay tuned for my next chapter!
If any of you want a hint at an event that will happen later in the story (much much much later), then listen to the song Nothing by the Script. It's my new favorite song, and it has to do perfectly with one of the chapters I have planned for this story! It is an amazing song, but it's also really sad.
P.S. If you have a pottermore account please friend me please. My account is HollyEye56! thnx soooo much!