Harry Potter
And
The Charm of Curses
Chapter 1: To the Granger's House
Harry Potter's eyes flickered open slowly, and he let out a long yawn. He sat up in bed, stretching luxuriously, then shook his head to clear the fuzziness that accompanied him most mornings.
Two more weeks until he returned to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Four hours until he went to Hermione Granger's house to meet up with Hermione herself and Ron Weasley.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he scrambled over to his closet, opening it. Sighing, he examined all of the large, baggy clothes of Dudley Dursley, and frowned: this just wasn't going to do.
Despite his protests, Aunt Petunia, a woman he disliked from the bottom of his very heart, along with the rest of the Dursley 's, had made him help some men work on her 'pretty and simply delightful' garden. Hauling boulders and concrete, along with being burnt all day in the sun, and let's not forget the blueprints of exactly how she wanted it done, along with no money on his behalf, hadn't exactly been simple. It was large, expensive, and more than pretty, in his opinion.
He had a hunch that his aunt had only called it pretty because he himself had helped make it as it was.
But then again, he couldn't protest, now could he? He had earned himself a wonderful tan, his slim and wobbly form that had grown three inches over the summer had gained some muscles, and he had even managed to trim up his hair without the use of a wand. Even his glasses didn't look so bad anymore.
Sighing once again, he scratched the back of his head. No, this wouldn't do at all.
The clothes, no matter how fat Dudley was now—Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had given up on the diet, as it quickly proved pointless because of the boy's gigantic appetite and constant whining—he simply had outgrown them height wise. Sure, he had worn them all summer long, but that didn't help the fact that he was now going back to school and the clothes were itchy and bothersome. Of course, he would be wearing his Hogwarts uniform, but what about on days when there were no classes?
His mind drifted back to the bag of money under his bed. He had had some money left over, sure enough, even though most of it had been spent on those omnioculars at the Quidditch World Cup.
Maybe, when he went over to Hermione's by a hookup of Floo Powder for a few short hours, he might be able to exchange some galleons at Gringott's for Muggle money, buy himself some new clothing.
He brightened considerably at the thought, but his smile withered moments later as his mind drifted back to the fact that things weren't as simple as that any longer. It was probably going to be packed with security at Diagon Alley, for all he knew, considering Lord Voldemort's uprising.
It was dangerous to be at the Burrow, and it still dangerous to be at the Granger's, considering Voldemort's first strike would probably be against 'mudbloods.' No place was safe these days, he supposed, and he briefly wondered if the Weasleys were going to get a Secret Keeper. It made since, but then again, Arthur Weasley would put up a fight, and Dumbledore himself had told Harry that he would prefer that he stay at Hermione's the last two weeks of summer. Ron, when he had sent Hedwig with a letter of the news, had been somewhat disappointed, along with Mrs. Weasley, but Harry was going to play it safe: if Dumbledore thought it wiser to stay with the Granger's, then wiser it would be.
Uncle Vernon hadn't been too happy at Harry leaving, but there was the threat of Sirius. He didn't know that Sirius wasn't writing him because of that important mission Dumbledore had given him and Remus, but what he didn't know, wouldn't hurt him. Right? Right.
As he began to pack all of his things—he hadn't been able to the night before, because Aunt Petunia insisted he have double chores since he was leaving, and she didn't want him to think things were going to be any easier for him—his thoughts drifted back to what Malfoy had said on his trip home at the end of his fourth year.
"You've picked the losing side, Potter! I warned you! I told you you ought to choose your company more carefully, remember? When we met on the train, first day at Hogwarts? I told you not to hang around with riffraff like this! Too late now, Potter! They'll be the first to go, now the Dark Lord's back! Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers first! Well—second—Diggory was the f—"
Harry shook his head, dismissing Malfoy's words. No use dwelling on them, it was a whole bunch of garbage.
Then why did he feel, deep down, that it was probably true?
At ten till ten, he hauled his trunk downstairs, and saw with relief that the Dursley 's had not forgotten about the incident of last year's experience with Floo Powder. They had boarded up the fireplace, and the Weasleys had had to use magic to burst it open, as they had become stuck.
Harry grinned at the thought of his Uncle's face as dirt and soot covered the area, along with his best tux practically ruined.
And so this time, the fireplace had been unbarred, and a fire was already crackling within it.
The Dursley 's all sat in the living room, once again in their best outfits—they had been somewhat at more ease once Harry had told them that the parents were of Hermione were just like them. But to Harry, they were far from being just like the Dursley 's.
"So, Harry," Uncle Vernon began, mustache twitching as he talked. "You're not planning on coming back until next summer, are you?"
Figured.
"No, sir," Harry replied, raising an eyebrow.
He grunted, and that was the end of the conversation.
Harry sighed. Nothing to do until Hermione got there.
From the corner of his eye, he watched as Dudley eyed the fireplace venomously, curled into what he considered a ball on five beanbags on the floor—he no longer fit the couch or chairs.
"You know," Harry began, leaning casually on his trunk, Hedwig fluttering her wings within her cage, "Hermione's real pretty. Wouldn't dare think of giving you those wretched sweets."
Hermione was pretty, he knew, but he only saw her as a sister, and he considered the kiss she had given his cheek a friendly sort of thing.
He smirked mentally as he watched Dudley's face light up in small interest. Then he shook his head furiously, many chins flapping. "No, I'm not stupid, Harry. This is your idea of some sick joke."
He knew the only reason Dudley wasn't jumping up to use him as a punching bag was because he, too, knew that Sirius, the most wanted criminal in the Muggle world, was his godfather.
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia shot him a warning glance, but he merely shrugged—after what had happened at the end of his fourth year, they never seemed to bother him much anymore. He had endured much worse.
And, two minutes later, Hermione appeared in the fireplace, hands held out before her as she staggered a few steps forward. Coughing slightly, she rubbed at her eyes, and then the fire behind her flickered down again from where it had risen high into the air.
"Harry!" she exclaimed merrily. "Great! Look, I want you to meet someone!"
Behind her, the fire rose again, and then a girl the same age as him—fifteen—walked out of the fire, blinking, as if a little dazed. "Whoa. . .That was new, Hermione."
Hermione merely grinned, then turned back to Harry, who stared openly at the girl. She had long, long brown hair, bright, chestnut brown eyes ringed with a faint tint of green, and wore a tank top and shorts. Her wand stuck out of her pocket, and from the corner of his eye he saw Uncle Vernon's lips twitch.
"Harry. . . .Hello?" Hermione waved a hand in front of his face, as the other girl quickly whirled around from gazing at the living room. He caught her gaze, locking eyes with her, and then they both blushed and looked away.
"Er. . . .Yes?" Harry blinked innocently, smiling.
"This is Jessica. . ." she introduced slowly, raising an eyebrow suspiciously. "She just transferred here from America. She's going to be attending Hogwarts with us! Isn't that great!? They don't have all the magic and stuff there that we do, so–"
He coughed slightly, nodding towards the Dursley's, and she quickly realized her mistake and closed her mouth, smiling apologetically.
His uncle stood up, clearing his throat. "I suspect you'll be leaving right about now, Harry?"
"Right, yes, of course." Once more, he tore his gaze away from the beautiful Jessica, and picked up his trunk.
Hermione grinned, winking, and pulled out a bag from her pocket. Quickly, she flung Floo Powder into the fireplace, and the fire became emerald colored, roaring and rising higher than before.
"Just say 'To the Granger's', alright, Harry? You first." She swept her hand before her, gesturing towards the fire.
Then, quite abruptly, as he stepped forward to do so, a burning pierced the scar atop Harry's head, and he gasped, eyes closing tightly. He placed his fisted hand to it, hissing under his breath, pain soaring all through his body—ever since Voldemort had risen to full power again, the hurt his scar could cause him became worse and worse. He could only guess that the Dark Lord's blood thirst was greater than ever.
"Harry, are you okay?" he heard Hermione ask, placing a hand on his shoulder.
He flinched away, as if her touch had burned him, and shook his head rapidly.
Oh, God, the pain, it was too great. He fell to his knees, his blood seeming to boil in his veins, his stomach clenching up in painful knots, heart beating so fast, and it hurt to breathe. His scar had never been this bad before!
And then, suddenly, there were flashes before his closed eyelids.
"Take the baby and go, Lily! Take him and go!"
"No! James, no!"
His mother reached out wildly to her husband, green eyes bright and filled with the utmost fear.
Voldemort advanced on James, wand raised, and bright light shot forth as he bellowed, "Avada Kedavra!"
His dad's brown eyes suddenly went blank, and he crumpled to the floor with a sickening thud.
"Dad, no!" Harry cried out, eyes still closed, breathing coming in shuddering breaths.
Voldemort laughed evilly, the sound chilling, and it was filled with mirthlessness. He walked down the hallway, wand still raised before him, hood drawn over his face, dark robes brushing along the wooden floor.
Then Lily was before him, shaking her head now, tears spilling down her cheeks.
Voldemort paused, then growled, "Get out of the way, girl! My true objective is the boy!"
"No! Not Harry!" She immediately staggered back, the baby wrapped protectively in her arms, and fled into his room.
Hissing, Voldemort swung his wand and the crib went flying into the wall.
Lily cried out, shaking her head back and forth. "I won't give you Harry! Get out! You're not wanted here!"
"Get out of the way, you silly girl!" Voldemort spat. "NOW! I command that you to give him to me!"
"No! Please not the baby! Please not Harry!" Lily cried, sobbing, turning her back to him.
"This is your last chance, girl!"
"Tom. . .Tom, no! Please don't! Please! You promised!"
Regret came like a black shroud, then was gone moments later. "Give over the baby, Lily! NOW!"
"I'll never give him over to you!"
"Then that shall be your downfall!" Green light shot forth, striking out, and Harry came to just as Voldemort cried, "Avada Kedavra!"
Hermione was shaking him. "Harry! Harry, are you alright!?"
"Mom," he sobbed, eyes snapping open. "Mom. . ."
He couldn't make out anything. The room was spinning beneath his feet, it seemed, and his vision was blurry. He could still see Voldemort kill his dad, could still feel the confusing emotions that seemed to have been emitted from him.
"Mom. . .Dad. . .Oh, God. . ."
"Come on, Harry, let's get you out of here," he heard Hermione shush from what seemed far, far away. "Come on. . ."
She pulled him to his feet, and Harry collapsed into her arms, grasping onto anything that was real for dear life. He didn't know what was happening, didn't know what was going on, just wanted to get out of there.
"The Granger's!" Hermione cried, and then all went dark.
And
The Charm of Curses
Chapter 1: To the Granger's House
Harry Potter's eyes flickered open slowly, and he let out a long yawn. He sat up in bed, stretching luxuriously, then shook his head to clear the fuzziness that accompanied him most mornings.
Two more weeks until he returned to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Four hours until he went to Hermione Granger's house to meet up with Hermione herself and Ron Weasley.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he scrambled over to his closet, opening it. Sighing, he examined all of the large, baggy clothes of Dudley Dursley, and frowned: this just wasn't going to do.
Despite his protests, Aunt Petunia, a woman he disliked from the bottom of his very heart, along with the rest of the Dursley 's, had made him help some men work on her 'pretty and simply delightful' garden. Hauling boulders and concrete, along with being burnt all day in the sun, and let's not forget the blueprints of exactly how she wanted it done, along with no money on his behalf, hadn't exactly been simple. It was large, expensive, and more than pretty, in his opinion.
He had a hunch that his aunt had only called it pretty because he himself had helped make it as it was.
But then again, he couldn't protest, now could he? He had earned himself a wonderful tan, his slim and wobbly form that had grown three inches over the summer had gained some muscles, and he had even managed to trim up his hair without the use of a wand. Even his glasses didn't look so bad anymore.
Sighing once again, he scratched the back of his head. No, this wouldn't do at all.
The clothes, no matter how fat Dudley was now—Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had given up on the diet, as it quickly proved pointless because of the boy's gigantic appetite and constant whining—he simply had outgrown them height wise. Sure, he had worn them all summer long, but that didn't help the fact that he was now going back to school and the clothes were itchy and bothersome. Of course, he would be wearing his Hogwarts uniform, but what about on days when there were no classes?
His mind drifted back to the bag of money under his bed. He had had some money left over, sure enough, even though most of it had been spent on those omnioculars at the Quidditch World Cup.
Maybe, when he went over to Hermione's by a hookup of Floo Powder for a few short hours, he might be able to exchange some galleons at Gringott's for Muggle money, buy himself some new clothing.
He brightened considerably at the thought, but his smile withered moments later as his mind drifted back to the fact that things weren't as simple as that any longer. It was probably going to be packed with security at Diagon Alley, for all he knew, considering Lord Voldemort's uprising.
It was dangerous to be at the Burrow, and it still dangerous to be at the Granger's, considering Voldemort's first strike would probably be against 'mudbloods.' No place was safe these days, he supposed, and he briefly wondered if the Weasleys were going to get a Secret Keeper. It made since, but then again, Arthur Weasley would put up a fight, and Dumbledore himself had told Harry that he would prefer that he stay at Hermione's the last two weeks of summer. Ron, when he had sent Hedwig with a letter of the news, had been somewhat disappointed, along with Mrs. Weasley, but Harry was going to play it safe: if Dumbledore thought it wiser to stay with the Granger's, then wiser it would be.
Uncle Vernon hadn't been too happy at Harry leaving, but there was the threat of Sirius. He didn't know that Sirius wasn't writing him because of that important mission Dumbledore had given him and Remus, but what he didn't know, wouldn't hurt him. Right? Right.
As he began to pack all of his things—he hadn't been able to the night before, because Aunt Petunia insisted he have double chores since he was leaving, and she didn't want him to think things were going to be any easier for him—his thoughts drifted back to what Malfoy had said on his trip home at the end of his fourth year.
"You've picked the losing side, Potter! I warned you! I told you you ought to choose your company more carefully, remember? When we met on the train, first day at Hogwarts? I told you not to hang around with riffraff like this! Too late now, Potter! They'll be the first to go, now the Dark Lord's back! Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers first! Well—second—Diggory was the f—"
Harry shook his head, dismissing Malfoy's words. No use dwelling on them, it was a whole bunch of garbage.
Then why did he feel, deep down, that it was probably true?
At ten till ten, he hauled his trunk downstairs, and saw with relief that the Dursley 's had not forgotten about the incident of last year's experience with Floo Powder. They had boarded up the fireplace, and the Weasleys had had to use magic to burst it open, as they had become stuck.
Harry grinned at the thought of his Uncle's face as dirt and soot covered the area, along with his best tux practically ruined.
And so this time, the fireplace had been unbarred, and a fire was already crackling within it.
The Dursley 's all sat in the living room, once again in their best outfits—they had been somewhat at more ease once Harry had told them that the parents were of Hermione were just like them. But to Harry, they were far from being just like the Dursley 's.
"So, Harry," Uncle Vernon began, mustache twitching as he talked. "You're not planning on coming back until next summer, are you?"
Figured.
"No, sir," Harry replied, raising an eyebrow.
He grunted, and that was the end of the conversation.
Harry sighed. Nothing to do until Hermione got there.
From the corner of his eye, he watched as Dudley eyed the fireplace venomously, curled into what he considered a ball on five beanbags on the floor—he no longer fit the couch or chairs.
"You know," Harry began, leaning casually on his trunk, Hedwig fluttering her wings within her cage, "Hermione's real pretty. Wouldn't dare think of giving you those wretched sweets."
Hermione was pretty, he knew, but he only saw her as a sister, and he considered the kiss she had given his cheek a friendly sort of thing.
He smirked mentally as he watched Dudley's face light up in small interest. Then he shook his head furiously, many chins flapping. "No, I'm not stupid, Harry. This is your idea of some sick joke."
He knew the only reason Dudley wasn't jumping up to use him as a punching bag was because he, too, knew that Sirius, the most wanted criminal in the Muggle world, was his godfather.
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia shot him a warning glance, but he merely shrugged—after what had happened at the end of his fourth year, they never seemed to bother him much anymore. He had endured much worse.
And, two minutes later, Hermione appeared in the fireplace, hands held out before her as she staggered a few steps forward. Coughing slightly, she rubbed at her eyes, and then the fire behind her flickered down again from where it had risen high into the air.
"Harry!" she exclaimed merrily. "Great! Look, I want you to meet someone!"
Behind her, the fire rose again, and then a girl the same age as him—fifteen—walked out of the fire, blinking, as if a little dazed. "Whoa. . .That was new, Hermione."
Hermione merely grinned, then turned back to Harry, who stared openly at the girl. She had long, long brown hair, bright, chestnut brown eyes ringed with a faint tint of green, and wore a tank top and shorts. Her wand stuck out of her pocket, and from the corner of his eye he saw Uncle Vernon's lips twitch.
"Harry. . . .Hello?" Hermione waved a hand in front of his face, as the other girl quickly whirled around from gazing at the living room. He caught her gaze, locking eyes with her, and then they both blushed and looked away.
"Er. . . .Yes?" Harry blinked innocently, smiling.
"This is Jessica. . ." she introduced slowly, raising an eyebrow suspiciously. "She just transferred here from America. She's going to be attending Hogwarts with us! Isn't that great!? They don't have all the magic and stuff there that we do, so–"
He coughed slightly, nodding towards the Dursley's, and she quickly realized her mistake and closed her mouth, smiling apologetically.
His uncle stood up, clearing his throat. "I suspect you'll be leaving right about now, Harry?"
"Right, yes, of course." Once more, he tore his gaze away from the beautiful Jessica, and picked up his trunk.
Hermione grinned, winking, and pulled out a bag from her pocket. Quickly, she flung Floo Powder into the fireplace, and the fire became emerald colored, roaring and rising higher than before.
"Just say 'To the Granger's', alright, Harry? You first." She swept her hand before her, gesturing towards the fire.
Then, quite abruptly, as he stepped forward to do so, a burning pierced the scar atop Harry's head, and he gasped, eyes closing tightly. He placed his fisted hand to it, hissing under his breath, pain soaring all through his body—ever since Voldemort had risen to full power again, the hurt his scar could cause him became worse and worse. He could only guess that the Dark Lord's blood thirst was greater than ever.
"Harry, are you okay?" he heard Hermione ask, placing a hand on his shoulder.
He flinched away, as if her touch had burned him, and shook his head rapidly.
Oh, God, the pain, it was too great. He fell to his knees, his blood seeming to boil in his veins, his stomach clenching up in painful knots, heart beating so fast, and it hurt to breathe. His scar had never been this bad before!
And then, suddenly, there were flashes before his closed eyelids.
"Take the baby and go, Lily! Take him and go!"
"No! James, no!"
His mother reached out wildly to her husband, green eyes bright and filled with the utmost fear.
Voldemort advanced on James, wand raised, and bright light shot forth as he bellowed, "Avada Kedavra!"
His dad's brown eyes suddenly went blank, and he crumpled to the floor with a sickening thud.
"Dad, no!" Harry cried out, eyes still closed, breathing coming in shuddering breaths.
Voldemort laughed evilly, the sound chilling, and it was filled with mirthlessness. He walked down the hallway, wand still raised before him, hood drawn over his face, dark robes brushing along the wooden floor.
Then Lily was before him, shaking her head now, tears spilling down her cheeks.
Voldemort paused, then growled, "Get out of the way, girl! My true objective is the boy!"
"No! Not Harry!" She immediately staggered back, the baby wrapped protectively in her arms, and fled into his room.
Hissing, Voldemort swung his wand and the crib went flying into the wall.
Lily cried out, shaking her head back and forth. "I won't give you Harry! Get out! You're not wanted here!"
"Get out of the way, you silly girl!" Voldemort spat. "NOW! I command that you to give him to me!"
"No! Please not the baby! Please not Harry!" Lily cried, sobbing, turning her back to him.
"This is your last chance, girl!"
"Tom. . .Tom, no! Please don't! Please! You promised!"
Regret came like a black shroud, then was gone moments later. "Give over the baby, Lily! NOW!"
"I'll never give him over to you!"
"Then that shall be your downfall!" Green light shot forth, striking out, and Harry came to just as Voldemort cried, "Avada Kedavra!"
Hermione was shaking him. "Harry! Harry, are you alright!?"
"Mom," he sobbed, eyes snapping open. "Mom. . ."
He couldn't make out anything. The room was spinning beneath his feet, it seemed, and his vision was blurry. He could still see Voldemort kill his dad, could still feel the confusing emotions that seemed to have been emitted from him.
"Mom. . .Dad. . .Oh, God. . ."
"Come on, Harry, let's get you out of here," he heard Hermione shush from what seemed far, far away. "Come on. . ."
She pulled him to his feet, and Harry collapsed into her arms, grasping onto anything that was real for dear life. He didn't know what was happening, didn't know what was going on, just wanted to get out of there.
"The Granger's!" Hermione cried, and then all went dark.