This is the author disclaimer. I own no charecters or places or whatever, those belong respectivly to JK Rowling and JRRTolkien. But Dusk is MINE! if you want to use her, E-mail me. and this will be a Crossover and rating is subject to change. Artist name will always be put after the little song snippets and unless it says otherwise, those don't belong to me either. THIS IS MY DIS-CLAIMER FOR THE ENTIER STORY. I WILL NOT REPEATE MYSELF AT EVERY CHAPTER.
CHAPTER ONE
The Trap
You, there on the bridge,
Where are you going?
What's your name?
And you, there on the wall,
Where will you go to,
Once you fall?
voltair
Gwenafer, or Ginny, Weasly was mad. No, mad didn't begin to describe the rage she felt at Fred and Ronald Weasly.
"So."
That single word had the effect of a cold shower on her brothers. They instantly stopped ranting about why she could not go and help the Order of the Phoenix, and gazed at her warily. Ginny's temper had a drastically short fuse when dealing with her brothers.
"Merely because I'm you sister, a girl, a child, you can tell me to go and hide in a safe place and you would expect me to smile, nod, and agree 'cause you two SAID SO? A COUPLE POINTS TO MAKE HERE! FRED, I'M NOT A CHILD ANYMORE! IM 15 YAERS OLD! NOT A 3 YEAR OLD WHO NEEDS TO BE LED AROUND BY THE NOSE!" she switched her fiery gaze to Ron. "AND YOU! WHAT ABOUT THE VARIOUS THINGS YOU DID IN YOUR LIFE! LETS RECOUNT THEM, SHALL WE! FIRST YEAR, SORCERERS STONE! SECOND YEAR, WHOMPING WILLOW, ARAGOG AND THE BASILISK! THIRD YEAR SIRIUS BLACK! AND I DON'T CARE IF HE WAS ON OUR SIDE AFTER THAT, HE WOULD HAVE KILLED YOU BACK THEN TO GET TO PETTIGREW!"Her voice was rapidly approaching the infamous range used by all Weasly females who were incensed at the shortsighted Weasly males. " FOURTH YEAR YOU WERE UNDER THE HOGWARTS LAKE FOR AN HOUR AND 45 MINUTES! THERE WAS ALSO THE FAKE DEFENSE TEACHER WHO JUST SO HAPPENED TO BE A DEATHEATER! AND LAST YEAR YOU FOLLOWED HARRY TO THE DEPARTMENT OF MYSTEYS! THAT GOT SIRIUS KILLED! YOU GOT A BRAIN SUCKING OUT YOUR ESSANCE! HERMINIE GOT CURSED SO BADLY NO ONE KNEW IF SHE WOULD LIVE! DO NOT PREACH SAFETY TO ME RON! IF I SURVIVED THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS, I MOST SURE AS HELL WILL SURVIVE CURSING A FEW GODESS-FORSAKEN DEATHEATERS! D.A. TAUGHT ME A FEW THINGS, RON I CAN BEAT YOU IN A DULE NOW IN ONE MINUTE FLAT! AND REMEMBER WHEN DEATHEATERS ATTACKED THE BURROW LAST DESEMBER? I WAS THE ONE WHO WARNED YOU! DON'T YOU DARE SAY THAT I AM OF NO USE IN A FIGHT!"
The two brothers were absolutely intimidated. It was like facing Mrs. Weasly in one of her righteous rages, except with ten times more energy.
Abruptly, Ginny stopped and drew a long deep breath. When she opened her eyes again, the boys could see the spark of anger almost hidden, but ready to burst forth again should she receive any opposition.
"Now, I am going. Are you coming with me or shall I go by myself?"
Silently, the two nodded. Satisfied, Ginny grabbed her ebony wand and stalked out the door.
Ron followed suit silently, but Fred ran upstairs to his bedroom. It was now the Weasly sickroom. Fred blinked as he walked in, the lights were very low. A harsh chuckle rose to greet him.
"Told you that ya' should have just let 'er go." George was still chuckling at his brother's misfortune.
Fred stopped and sat at his brother's side. The bandages were only on the worst places, the left arm and shoulder. The exposed skin was looking bad, even in the low light. Hot and an angry red, Fred wondered if his brother's burns would ever heal.
"Your right, she gave us a right good tongue lashing for trying to protect her. Next time I start to do something that stupid, make me see reason will you? Now, you shouldn't even be awake. Go back to sleep, and we'll curse a Deatheater or three for you."
"Mmm." was all the reply Fred got. He quickly grabbed his wand from the bedside table and quickly jogged out the door. Fred jumped down the stairs a grim smile on his face.
Now, he would be able to vent some of his anger, frustration and worry for his twin into something that would hurt the Deatheaters.
The Wesley's clustered around the Portkey that would take them to the muggle office that the Deatheater were planning to attack in ten minutes time.
Fred looked around the group, wondering who would be lying up in the sick-ward with George next. Maybe Ginny, anger written all over her freckled face. Or perhaps Bill or Charlie, both of whom remained stoic. They were getting very good at remaining expressionless in dire places. The last time either of them had cried was when they had thought George was dead. Percy was gone, dead, when the Ministry of Magic was attacked. Ron looked like he was about to hurl. Mrs. And Mr. Weasly looked merely determined.
As the familiar sensation of falling ensued, Fred wondered who would be next.
To non-magical eyes, the scene was an odd one. A lot of men in strange clothing and masks were pointing thin sticks of dark wood at the circle of frightened muggle's.
A fire-red head peered out around the alcove door where the Weasly's had Port-Keyed. The head was swiftly pulled back as a Deatheater turned to talk in a low voice to his neighbor. Charlie turned to the rest of the group.
"Head count: we have around 20 muggle's in there and exactly 14 Deatheaters. Everyone ready?" he spoke in a whisper, but all the Weasly's heard and gave signs of agreement "come in fast and quietly, good luck."
Ginny emotions broiled together like a nest of snakes in her stomach. Anger and fear mixed together to provide a most interesting mix of dread and recklessness. As her family began firing the first curses, Ginny felt detached. She was a calm, dispassionate, as her body dodged and fired curses of its own accord. She began to be able to see the rest of the assault. Bill was locked in a wrestling match with the biggest Deatheater, wands forgotten. Charlie had managed to break through the Deatheater ring, and was attacking them from behind. No time for honor or rules.
Mrs. Wesley was down, blood pouring from a scalp wound. Mr. Wesley was guarding her with a ferocity and anger unmatched by any. Fred was being careful, hiding behind a pillar and attacking as soon as a Deatheater back was turned.
Ginny herself kept her ears open, and it was her sharp hearing the allowed her to jump out of the way of a Avadra Kevadra curse, directed at her. The caster swore as he jumped behind a desk, he had been sure that the girl would be an easy target. However, now Ginnys emotions had a target as well. All her instincts were whispering as to how best avenge all her family's hurts on this one man. A stunning spell zipped toward her; Ginny barley had enough time to cast
" Protogo"
before the red stunner slammed into her shield, her opponent was a very strong wizard, he cast a very strong stunner. Through the blue tinted vision the shield allowed her Ginny looked, really looked, at her assailant.
The white mask with red patterns covered all save his eyes. They were brown eyes that could belong anywhere, to anyone. Such a horrible person should not have such normal eyes, no; a beast that enjoyed killing should have fiery red pits, showing his evil for all to see.
The Deatheater stared at the fiery young witch, wondering what made her look so fit to murder. He was intrigued, if he could capture her she would be very interesting to torture and find out what had caused that absolute hatred to set its brand on her face. He switched from using Death curses to Stunners, he was confidant that this young witch would present little obstacle.
As he ducked behind another pillar to avoid a particaluy nasty hex, the Deatheater blinked in confusion. The red-haired chit was running toward him! What sane person ran TOWARD a Deatheater? Everyone that had not lost their mind ran away from them! He peeked around the pillar to get another look at the crazy Weasly.
The flying tackle caught him completely by surprise. He went out like a lit match.
Momentarily stunned, Ginny sat back on her heels and assessed the damage. Nothing major, a few cuts and bruises and a nasty burn on her left forearm where it had touched the wizards wand, but nothing permenent, or life threating.
The Deatheater was in much worse shape, the metal mask was lying on the Oriental rug by her feet, and though the face before her was covered in blood, she now had his name.
Alexander Crabb.
Father of Vincent Crabb, and one of the Deatheaters who had slipped the net at the last ambush, according to her brothers.
"Constringo"
Ropes shot from Ginnys wand to constrain the Crabb for when he awoke.
A hesitant hand lightly touched Ginnys shoulder, but not before she had sensed the intruders' aura and recognized him as Charlie. It was rare to be able to sense and see another person's aura, yet another way Tom had changed Ginny when she was 11.
Charlie watched as his sister rose gracefully and turned to stare him in the eye. Her eyes were still slightly glazed, but he knew from experience that when she looked like that all her senses were on full alert, and the slightest wrong move would set her back into offensive. It was odd, this had never happened before her first year at Hogwarts. Before then Ginny had been a sweet, eager to please girl, but Riddle (Charlie refused to think of Tom by his first name) had changed her. Ever seance then Ginny had never been afraid of showing her temper, or her disrespect for being under someone's authority.
With a deep breath Ginny felt almost normal, with her equilibrium restored. A curious eyebrow raised in question, she searched her second-favorite-brothers face.
Weariness and a slight hint of something that might be fear lurked there. Charlie spoke.
"Bill needs you."
"What curse was he hit with?"
" Deflou Animus."
"Lost Mind, are you sure?" The question was full of fear and pain as Ginny and Charlie made there way to a cluster of redheads.
"Definitely"
They reached the eldest Weasly child. And it WAS the Lost Mind curse. All the adult information in his mind had been masked. Allowing his senses to only connect with the links it would if Bill was a toddler.
"Oh, Bill,"
Those two words where fill of pain, and fear that Ginnys healer skills would let her down and Bill would be stuck like this all his life. A child in an adult's body.
Ginny knew she must not fail, if the cure wasn't performed correctly the first time it would never work on that person again.
So Ginny gathered a cooing Bill into her arms and began singing pure notes like liquid glass.
Everything stopped and watched as the notes hung in the air. Ginny sang of pain, grief and hate, drawing on the emotions of those around her. All nearby were struck by a sorrow that was at the root of life itself
The minor key unhurriedly changed to a major key as she sang of hope, joy and love. The notes were now prancing and capering in merely the joy of living. The emotional magic poured out in a jig, celebrating life and rebirth. The magic healed those who wished to embrace it in their hearts, and those that didn't could tell what they were missing by the choice they had made. Bill was where the song was directed to however; the others barely caught the edge of the full power of Ginnys song.
It ran through his mind, opening the weaving corridors and calling to the knowledge hidden there. And all that was in Bill's mind answered the call. But it would take a very long time for Bills knowledge to completely come out of hidden shadows, to be remembered and referenced.
That would take exactly one year. Thank all the Goddess that Bill would be ignorant of the frustration of having to learn everything again.
But Ginny still smiled. Phoenix song would take care of her brother now.
Then the rings that all the Weaslys' wore on their fingers glowed bright blue for a few seconds. Dumbledor had need of them.
Without delay Arthur Weasly grabbed Mrs. Weasly and Bill and apperated them to the Borrow. As soon as everyone was back the whole clan appearated strait to Hogwart where Professor Dumbledor was waiting with a grave expression.
CHAPTER TWO
The rescue
I break the silence with my voice
And everyone turns round
To see the source of all the noise
And here I stand.
voltiar
Far away from the fight, there was a normal street. It was lined with normal looking houses in the dark of the night. Except, in the smallest room of one house there was a boy who looked anything other than normal. Still awaiting his growth spurt, the boy was only 5 feet tall with an extra 3 inches. It was very plain he was malnourished and bruises lined his arms. The oddly shaped scar above his left eye was covered by the fringe of unruly black mane. Constant chores had given him finely toned muscles and sunburns. Grief had left its unflinching mark upon a face that should have been too young to know such things. Harry Potter was in the last place he wanted to be, Private Drive, with his Aunt, Uncle and Dudley.
Harry was dreaming the strangest things. At first it started out like all his other guilt-ridden dreams, with Cedric, Sirius, and his Mother and Father and all others who had been slain by Voldermort coming to Harry and asking why they died, and why hadn't he stopped it? It must have been HIS fault! But then Harry saw a Muggle office. Cloaked people in robes stormed into the room firing curses left and right.
A gray mist swirled in and allowed only brief glimpses of what was taking place in the office. Glimpses of a red-haired clan pouring in, firing curses left and right. A dark shape creeping up behind a Weasly, a female Weasly tackling a Deatheater in a move that would be impossible for anyone slower than her, Molly Weasly down for the count, with her husband protecting her.
And last of all before the fog closed in completely was of all the Deatheaters bound and the Weasel's clustered around one of their fallen.
Well, Harry thought tiredly, at least most of the Wesley's are all right.
Thinking of the Weasels made him think of family, the family that he no longer had. Sirius was dead. But that didn't mean that Harry had to accept it. After he had come back from his 5th year he had dropped into a habit of brooding about Sirius. He had gone almost obsessively over the Fight at the Ministry, trying to find the one moment when he could have prevented Sirius's death.
Resolutely pushing the 'should have's' out of his head, Harry knew he still wouldn't be able to get to sleep that night. Sliding out of his bed and padding across his small room to the desk where his homework lay was accomplished without a sound, he was careful to avoid waking his relatives. Hedwig was back, he noticed absently, not that it was much good to talk to anyone, he would never say what was really going on in his letters to the Order of the Phoenix. Harry was far too proud for that. And Vernon always screened Harry's letters before they left, he was risking no chance of wizards finding out about his nephews treatment. And that left the snowy owl, his constant friend as the only being inside the house he could freely speak to, even if she couldn't speak back.
The ebony haired teen sighed as he looked at his completed homework scrolls. The bad part of finishing your work within the first week was that when you needed something to do, there was nothing. There was the second choice of reading your textbooks, but Harry had already memorized them. And his books for next year. So the only thing for Harry to do was practice.
He had learned, on the first day of summer actually, that a simple masking charm was enough to keep the Ministry from sensing underage use of magic. Harry took full advantage of that. Not only had he greatly increased his usual magic's, but he had also mastered some spells in a few books that Dumbledor would be very displeased to see in his possession. Those books borderlined Dark Magic, but Harry figured that Dark Magic referred to intention instead of the spell itself.
Hell, if Dumbledor knew half of what Harry had read and purchased for his training, he would shut Harry up with the best psychiatrist he could find and throw away the key.
The next morning was rather normal, or as normal as it got around here. Then it all collapsed when Harry dropped a plate making breakfast. He froze as the plate sailed through the air, light reflecting strangely on it's polished surfaces. Harry watched it in total fascination, knowing he was to tired to catch it before it crashed into the tile.
When the light shattering did come it brought with it Vernon Dursely. Vernon came bounding into the room, along with the light smell of wine. He took one look at a acting Dudley and turned to Harry
"You clumsy fool! It's not enough that we must feed you and give you a roof over your head, no, you must break our DISHS!"
He was approaching Harry with a manic glint in his eye; his face seemed to have permanently gained the color pruce. He dragged Harry out of the kitchen to the living room. Dudley smirked at Harry behind his uncle's back. He never missed a chance to gloat over his parent's hate for his cousin.
Harry turned toward his uncle, dry mouthed, when a fist came for his right eye. Harry was rocked back on his heels by the force of the blow. Then fists began falling on all sides, the collective pain driving out any other thought. Once Harry heard a sharp crack and knew the one of his bones was broken, again.
This went on for a very long time, until Harry was fighting the tears of pain and Vernon was wheezing with the exertion of hitting the small teenager. The beatings were no longer an uncommon scene.
When they started the day after Harry had gotten back from School. He had been almost driven mad by pain and shock. The main question in his mind had been, why start this now? Then he found out. Over the course of Harry's 5th year at Hogwarts, Vernon had found out about the pleasing effect of a few shots of beer. The few shots had become pints when Harry came back to Number Four. Though his Aunt was never present at the pain-filled scenes, she knew of them. But she didn't dare offend her volatile husband by saying anything. She still hated Harry though, and made him do all of his chores, no matter how many broken bones he had.
Harry was brought back to unwelcome reality when the unlikely happened. The electric fireplace flashed in existence and Professor Serverus Snape's head appeared in the purple flames. The scowl that would have greeted Harry died in an instant as the Potions master took in the scene before him; Vernon, breathing heavily and with his fist still out to connect to Harry's thin body. Harry, eye blackened, nose broken, clutching his right leg (which also looked like it was broken) and doubled over in a position that would hide his vulnerable ribs.
The Potion Masters hate for Potter flickered and died at the sight. Snape had always assumed the Potter had a perfect home, one that loved him. All the Magical World did, anyway. He had just been proven very wrong.
Such anger passed through the professor's face that Harry was not surprised when he walked through the fire, and his Aura grew very, very angry red. Angry enough so that Vernon could see it as well.
The Professor turned to the Dursely and Vernon fainted from fright.
The Potions Master gave an angry snort at the man's weakness and turned to the Gryffendor. The boy's eyes were glazed and Snape doubted if he was actually seeing anything. Harry gained control of his wits and hobbled a close as he could to standing at attention. The boy-who-lived looked as if he wanted no pity and would do as much as possible for himself, by himself.
"Professor Snape." The boys voice broke through Severus's thoughts. The Professor stood, rooted to the floor, amazed at Potters attempts of masking his pain. It took him a moment to realize that the lad was swaying with the agony of standing with a broken leg.
"In Circes name, why are you trying to stand, Potter!" Snape pulled out his oak wand and pointed it at the offending limb. After muttering something under his breath that Harry couldn't quite hear, bandages flew from the wand. The nearly unbearable pain of having his leg being aligned by a splint caused Harry to growl with suppressed anguish. Snape looked up cautiously at Harry, as if not quiet sure what should be done next.
"Professor? Would you wait here for a second? I need to get something from my room."
Before Snape could say anything Harry had turned and was awkwardly limping up the stairs. So, Snape waited. And waited. And waited some more. After a minute Petunia came in with Dudley, shrieked at the sight of a wizard in her house, and ran out the front door. Snape was tired of waiting for the boy; he was not a patient person at all. Grumbling as he climbed the narrow steps Serverus was able to hear some very odd noises coming from what he assumed Potters room.
Cautiously sliding the creaking the door open, the first thing that struck the Professor was lack of things. That opinion was revised when Snape looked at Potters desk. Ancient looking tomes were all opened to parchments at various stages of age. In the brief glimpse he was able to gather Snape saw material far beyond any 6th year should even know about. He even saw an unrolled and unfinished scroll that looked like the homework the he had assigned for summer break, a particularly nasty essay on the Mind-Altering potion. Potters essay was three feet over his requirements.
Potter himself was shoving a large stack of books out of his way on the floor. After he was finally able to move them the boy reached over and pried up a small section of the floor, to revel a compartment stacked with various healing potions and ones Snape didn't even recognize. The Potter boy had obviously been up to more than schoolwork this summer. Snape's thoughts were drawn back to Harry's room as he heard a muffled thud followed by a gasp of pain and a curse. It appeared that one of his books had fallen on the boy, or more accurately, on his broken leg. Potter had finally fainted because of the pain, but even so, Snape hesitated going over the threshold of Harry's room, he had the distinct feeling that the boy would be less than pleased to find his Professor had seen him in such a state. Grumbling, the Potions Master stalked into Harry's room and picked the boy up, surprised at how little he weighed. The blurred green eyes opened for a minute and Snape was doubly surprised that he even had a semblance of lucidity.
"Don't, don't tell the Headmaster how I've been studying, please. He wouldn't understand." Harry's voice was soft, as if it hurt him to speak louder than a whisper.
Snape looked around at the books laying all around, most had a least a questionable nature, a few were emanating enough Dark Arts so that he could feel it from where he stood. He knew Harry's need to train, and he would hold his silence.
"I will tell no one." At this promise from Snape Harry's eyes shut as unconsciousness lured him away.