Title: Among Friends
Category: HP Fandom
Warnings: Horror/suspense
Summary: Harry is an undercover spy in Death Eater ranks. Voldemort is digging up bones to make Inferi, and Kingsley has bad news, only to find out what Harry has done.
A/N: After years of reading fanfics, here it is - my first HP drabble! It's a one-shot, just a scene that refused to go away. I'd love to hear your comments - PLEASE REVIEW! I'll throw in a possible HP/Twilight Crossover.
Disclaimer: Not Mine. Look for one J.K. Rowling.
He will not be happy about this; Kingsley thought to himself as he stood outside the door to Potter's refuge, who am I kidding? He'll be furious! He raised his hand to knock, only stopping an inch short of the door, should I even tell him? He might spoil the entire mission with any rash action. Kingsley rested his forehead to the door while he debated the course of action, only to sigh when he realized he would never be able to look Potter in the eye again if he kept silent. He took a deep breath, and gave the door two terse knocks. "It's me."
"Shacklebolt? Come in," came Potter's voice through the door, slightly sluggish, "it's not locked."
Kingsley was taken aback, suddenly alarmed, leaving the door unlocked? This is not Potter! He pulled his wand from his pocket and held it in a light grip next to his leg in a defensive position. He slowly pushed the door open, keeping his wand arm in front. The room was dark as night, and thick curtains were pulled to obscure the light. Even Kingsley's Auror-trained eyes could only see a faint outline of the furniture. In one of the corners, there was a shadow of figure crouching in an armchair. Kingsley grew tenser, "Potter?"
"Here," said the shadow in the armchair with that sluggish drawl again. He was curling in a fetal position in the armchair, not even lifting his head from his arm to look at Kingsley.
Everything in that room was setting Kingsley's mental alarms on. "Prove it," he countered, bringing his wand up to his chest.
The man who might be Potter released a breath that could be a sigh, and mumbled, "My godson has purple hair at the moment, and Voldemort's my bitch."
Kingsley relaxed, and allowed his hand to drop to his side. He sheathed his wand and closed the door behind him, shutting out the last shred of sunlight to the room. They were left dimmer than before. "Lumos," Kingsley whispered, and a pale blue light glowed from the tip of his wand. The figure in the corner buried his face deeper into his knees, as if burnt by the soft glow.
"What do you think you're doing? Leaving the door unlocked like that?" Kingsley frowned.
Potter answered with a deep-throated chuckle that sounded like a whine. He didn't even look at Kingsley's approach when he walked across the room. The chair he was perching on gave off a white, almost luminescent color in the magical light. It looked hard and uncomfortable.
Kingsley's frown deepened - he had seen Potter in a bad state more than he wanted to, but he had never seemed this unguarded- this out of control of himself. "What's the deal with you?" He asked sharply.
"You know how they say six feet under?" Potter said coarsely, finally lifting his head from his arm to cast a blank look at Kingsley, blinking owlishly, like he couldn't stand the light from the wand. The question caught Kingsley off guard, but Potter did not seem to need an answer, "they really do."
This Potter seemed so – wrong. That remark somehow sent shivers down Kingsley's spine, so he retorted impatiently, "I don't have time for this. We can all find that out when we're dead. Listen, we got from a source that – Are you high?"
Potter's green eyes looked like iridescent rings in the pale blue light, framing shadowed, dilated pupils. Potter blinked again at Kingsley's alarm and replied slowly, "I don't know. Do you think one gets high from Calming Draught?"
Concerned, Kinglsey moved his wand to cast the magical light around the room. They were a dozen glass vials scattered on the ground in Potter's corner, "Merlin's blood, how many did you take?"
"Two. Or maybe twelve," Potter turned his head slowly to survey the room, as if he was afraid his neck might snap, "Why are you here?"
Kingsley grew angry at Potter's pathetic state, "what do you think you're doing? If any Death Eater walks in, you'll be dead before you can say lumos! Do you think I spent two years putting you in their ranks only to have you die by the hand of some pitiful monster wannabe who thinks that the best way to beat Voldemort's favorite will be to kill him off once and for all?"
Potter looked unrepentant at his tirade; he merely blinked and repeated, "Why are you here?"
Kingsley cursed and gave a huge huff in place of more angered words that he wanted spew. They were short of time. Better get to topic now, he thought to himself, even if Potter was as baked as a pumpkin stuck in a dragon's nostril. "We got a report," he began, "that Rodolphus Lestrange was digging up the bodies of powerful wizards around Godric's Hollow. To use as Inferi, on the orders of Voldemort." He waited for Potter's outburst.
But Potter gave no reaction. He stared at Kingsley for a moment, then shifted his gaze to the ceiling.
"They were digging around Godric's Hollow," Kingsley repeated, thinking the news did not sink through Potter's brewed brains, "where your parents and your godfather were buried. Aren't you worried at all?"
A choked laugh emerged from Potter's mouth at that, and he began outright laughing.
"What the – " Kingsley started, shocked.
"No worries, Shacklebolt." Potter laughed breathlessly, "no worries."
"Have you gone completely mad?" Kingsley shouted, angered by his callous reaction. "The bodies of James and Lily Potter, of Sirius Black are already in the hands of Lestrange!"
"No worries," Potter repeated like a mantra. He turned his half-sane eyes towards Kingsley, and said, "Mom, Dad and Sirius are in good hands. They are among friends."
"What the hell are you saying?" Kingsley took two steps closer to Potter and reached for his collar to shake some sense into him. The light from his wand tip moved to illuminate Potter's body and the armchair he was huddling in.
In that flash of blue light, Kingsley noticed that Potter's hands were shaking, almost hysterically. And he was steadying them only by grabbing tightly to the arms of that white, shiny chair. Those arms that look smooth and white, with a spherical ornament at the end of it –
Those arms that look like a human femur.
Kingsley physically threw himself away from Potter and his chair the moment realization dawned. "Mordred's tears!"
His wand tip was shaking uncontrollably as comprehension blew through his mind like a blizzard, leaving him cold from head to toe. "What have you done?"
"What have I done?" Potter's laughter grew shrill, "I got there before Rodolphus Lestrange could lay hands on the graves of my parents. I made sure they are safe. I made sure they would not be found."
Kingsley's knees gave under him. He blindly grabbed onto a surface – a coffeetable? – and slid to the ground. "Merlin and Morgana, Harry."
"I did what I had to do. I did right." Harry returned his gaze to the ceiling, and repeated, "I did what I had to."
Of course he knew already by being in the Inner Circle. No wonder he was doused in Calming Draught, thought Kingsley as he tried to stop the undignified shivering raging across his limbs, Merlin I would be if I had to dig up the bones of my family and transfigure them into a – He shut his eyes tightly before he could process that thought all the way.
"They are among friends," Harry Potter said again, from his perch on the armchair.