Harry Potter and the Crimson Blade
Chapter 1 Out of Darkness.
"My Lord, we have brought you these incompetent Muggles from the east side of the village. They said they knew where he lived, but when the got a taste of my wand," Malgon twirled his wand between his fingers, "they became a bit difficult. Now the are blubbering on about cheese, but if you would like, I can shut them up for you." Voldemort moved forward out of the shadows of the trees, and he saw the two Muggles, bound and sobbing on the ground. They were both fully grown men, one with brown hair and a small beard, the other with black hair, and wild, shiny eyes, yet they screamed and whined on the ground like a pair of children at the whip.
"Quit your sniveling, fools," and Voldemort lashed out a hefty kick at the brown haired one, making him stop crying, but he continued to whimper.
"Please, let me go. what did I do to you?" the man said in a hoarse voice. It looked difficult for him to talk, because he had been beaten so much that his lips were swollen and his mouth looked unmanageable.
"I'll tell you what you did to me, Muggle, and I'll let you feel how angry I am about it as well." Voldemort pulled out his wand, a long thin strip of wood, blacker than the night around them.
"No! Please no! I'll do what you want. anything." the brown haired man quailed at the sight of the wand, curling up into a ball.
"You bastard!" screamed the black haired man. He suddenly jumped up, swinging his bound hands at Malgon. They hit Malgon square in the mask he was wearing, and Malgon collapsed, holding his face beneath the mask he wore. The black haired man sprinted into the night, dodging the trees that surrounded them. Voldemort held up his wand. "Avada Kadavra!" he shouted in a commanding voice, so that the air was suddenly filled with a blinding green light, and the shape of the deadly spell flew off into the night, thudding into the black haired man, killing him instantly. The man collapsed, no sign of death anywhere on his body, but a look of pure terror on his features.
"Now that's better," said Voldemort, looking down at the brown haired man. "Now, I know you will tell me everything you know about this boy. Where he lives, and what sort of surrounding lie in the area, and what of his aunt and uncle, and of any mail he has sent, and birds flying from his house, etcetera. I'm sure you know exactly what I'm talking about." Voldemort smiled at the man, who looked back in horror at the pale white face, the slits of a nose, and those red, red eyes. He nodded slowly, still staring. Voldemort gestured to the darkness, and another black cloaked and hooded figure emerged from the trees, the blank white mask the only thing visible in the dark night. The figure would have seemed exactly like any of the other Death Eaters there, except that the man's right hand was completely silver. I looked like a prosthetic hand, perhaps for someone who had lost their hand in an accident. But this was no ordinary prosthetic; it moved with the fluidity of a normal hand, the digits working deftly as it twirled a wand casually. Voldemort smiled. "Wormtail, Wormtail." he said in a silky voice to the small cloaked figure in front of him. Wormtail shifted uneasily, the mask seemed to shift in uncertainty.
"My Lord," Wormtail said in a squeaky, high pitched voice, "What would you ask of me?" the brown haired man lying captive on the ground noticed that the man named Wormtail seemed almost as frightened as he was.
Voldemort flicked his wand, and the captive lifted off the ground, hovering a foot from where he had just been laying, spinning slowly. "Wormtail, you will go with Malgon, and you will bring the boy to me. This man claims he knows where this boy I speak of lays in hiding, but if he shows any sign of eluding you, kill him." Voldemort flicked his wand again, and the bonds around the captive's hands and feet flew of, snapping as they tore and the vanished without a trace. The man then fell flat on his face in front of the man named Wormtail, and the masked man lifted him off the ground with his silver hand, showing surprising strength. Malgon lifted himself up as well, a little trickle of blood coming from underneath the mask where his nose and undoubtedly been broken.
"Get moving, Muggle," said Malgon, prodding the captive with his wand. The brown haired man moved off through the trees, and as he went, he saw a ghastly scene. As he walked, out of the darkness came more of the cloaked figures, all wearing the white masks, silent as shadows. There were many, and some seemed to suddenly appear, coming out from behind trees to joint the silent procession through the trees.
"Faster, Muggle," said Malgon again, and at this a small flicker of rage burnt up inside the captive man.
"My name is Gerard, not Muggle," he said with suppressed anger. Wormtail and Malgon snickered quietly, the only sound in the darkness.
"I'd be a little nicer, if I were you," said Wormtail, and Gerard was surprised to see that suck a squeaky voice could hold such menace. "We get to finish you off, once you've done your job. But we'll go easy on you, if you do this with out messing up. Now move!" the group of cloaked figures walked on, and soon they came to the end of the trees. Gerard went forward, looking out into the small field that separated the town of Boggelty Hedge from the forest that was the edge of the farming area. The group swept out of the trees, and as they walked out into the field, they formed a half circle around Gerard as he stumbled forward, frightened. Even though he was considered taller than most men, Gerard saw that the cloaked figures around him seemed a head taller than he was at least, but that might have been because he was crouched over, a bruise in his back making it painful to walk upright. A barn appeared out of the gloom, and as they drew closer, a farm house came visible. They plodded quietly through the yard, and out onto a gravel road. Down the road glimmered a few small lights of the tow Boggelty Hedge. Finally, Gerard spoke, "The boy is there, in that town. Now, must I take you further?" his voice seemed hollow on the darkness, yet screamingly loud.
"You have more to go, Muggle," said Wormtail, "Show us exactly where he lives." The group walked forward again, the half circle of cloaked figures staying silent in the dark.
Harry Potter woke suddenly, his scar searing with a sudden jerk of pain. He winced, and then cried out as another wake cut through his head. "Tichondrius!" Harry shouted, and rolled off his small cot. The Auror woke instantly, swinging his legs off the bed and standing. Delavan Tichondrius the Auror stood before Harry as he pulled on a dark blue cloak.
"Harry, what is it? Is he near?" Delavan asked, worry on his face. Harry clenched his forehead in pain, rocking on his heals as he talked through gritted teeth.
"My scar, its. hurting again." said Harry. Delavan went into the other room of the small house, and Harry heard him rummaging through a cabinet as he looked for something. He walked back into the room, carrying a small sealed vial. The vial was clear, and it contained a dark blue watery substance that frothed a lot at the top. Delavan handed it to Harry, who took it with his right hand while his left held his scar that still hurt. Delavan tore off the seal at the top, and Harry tipped it up and downed it in one gulp. It tasted sickly sweet, but immediately he felt the pain in his forehead ease. "Thanks, Delavan," said Harry. He sat back on his small bed as Delavan took the vial back into the other room. Harry looked around at the place that had been his home for the summer, and starting to think all this precaution was necessary. Dumbledore, along with Sirius, Harry's godfather, had agreed to have Harry kept under the supervision of one of the best Aurors. It was also decided that Harry would not live at his aunt and uncle's house, and he was sent to a small town out in the country of England called Boggelty Hedge. There he and his Auror companion, Delavan Tichondrius, had lived in the basement of an old couple who lived on the outskirts of the village. The Mortimors, the wizarding couple they were staying with, often didn't use magic, and so they blended in fine with the simple citizens of Boggelty Hedge. When they heard that Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was in trouble and needed a place to stay, they immediately offered their large basement, and turned it into a versatile living quarters. There Harry had been the entire summer, sometimes helping the Mortimors with keeping the chickens they raised in order, or walking in the woods that surrounded the farm land that stretched off for at least half a mile in any direction from Boggelty Hedge. He had been able to keep in touch with his two best friends, Hermione Granger, who had been in Bulgaria for most of the time, visiting the world famous Quidditch player, Victor Krum, and also with Ron Weasley, who had gone to Romania to visit his brother Charlie, who studied dragons. But, even though this way of life was far better than living with the horrible Dursleys, his only relatives, life was often lonely for Harry. Delavan was good company, and often kind, but he had also had to be stern to keep Harry from wandering into the middle of the town, so he wouldn't be suspected to be living there because Voldemort's spies were everywhere, or so it was rumored. The old and motherly Mrs. Mortimor gave Harry fudge, which she baked every Sunday, but she was growing deaf and it was hard to talk to her because he would always have to shout. Mr. Mortimor was also nice to Harry, but Harry didn't spend much time with him, because Mr. Mortimor would always drift off into a nap whenever Harry tried to carry on a conversation with him. Harry had also not been able to practice Quidditch, his favorite sport. Played in the wizarding world on broomsticks and with three balls, Harry was quite good at it. He was so good in fact, that he was the first First Year at Hogwarts in a century to play Quidditch on the House Teams. But now it seemed his peaceful little summer in the country was coming to an end. His scar was hurting, and that could only mean one thing: Voldemort was near.
"Harry," said Delavan sternly, "is he near? I need to know now if Voldemort is near." Harry grabbed his glasses from where he had set them next to his bed when he went to sleep, and put them on, blinking to adjust his eyes. He looked at the Auror with worry.
"The last time my scar hurt was when Voldemort was at Hogwarts, but how could he be here? I mean, this is a Muggle village, and what business would he have here anyway?" asked Harry. Delavan shook his head. He pulled the hood of his dark blue cloak up over his head, and grabbed his wand from the table where they ate.
"I'm going to investigate. Harry, this is serious. If he's here, I don't know what to do. He has grown powerful Harry, very powerful. If he gets his hands on you, you will not escape again. I don't mean to frighten you, but it is true. Now go, boy. Get your wand and your bag. Don't bother with the trunk, you may need to run." Harry grabbed his small haversack he kept a few of his possessions in when he went trekking in the woods. "What about Hedwig?" asked Harry, looking towards his beautiful snowy owl that had been his friend ever since he had entered the wizarding world.
"Let Hedwig out. She can find you where ever you will go. Now Harry, please! Go!" Harry noticed a note of urgency that he had never heard the Auror utter before. He grabbed his black cloak and threw it over his shoulders and picked up his small brown haversack, along with his wand. He headed for the small staircase that lead up and out of the basement into the Mortimors' house, but Delavan held him back. "Take the cellar stairs that lead out into the back. Make for the center of town, and wait for me there. If Voldemort's minions are abroad, or even Voldemort himself, you will need to be hidden, so stay to the shadows. Go." Harry ran back through the bed room and up another staircase in the back of the basement. He climbed up to the top, where there were two heavy wooden doors over the exit. He pushed with all his strength, and one of the doors creaked up and out, and Harry ran out into the night air, keeping to the shadows.
Delavan walked up the stairs and into the house. It was deathly quiet, and the darkness seemed to press in on his eyes. "Lumos!" he said under his breath, and his wand lit up, revealing the room. Mrs. and Mr. Mortimor lay dead on the floor, both facing down. A black scorch mark in the center of both of their backs, still smoldering. "Damn," he said, stepping carefully over the dead witch and wizard. Their wands lay close to their hands, but there was no sign of a fight. They must have been easy prey for the Death Eaters. He walked through the homely house, thinking of it as a death pit, and headed for the door. He opened it, and what he saw made his heart stop. There would be no escape for the Potter boy after all. The small yard was illuminated by a ghastly green light, the source of which was floating about a hundred feet above the house. A neon green skull with a snake coming out of its mouth floated in midair, giving off the light, but it was what the illuminated that made Delavan lose all hope. There, standing in a semi circle facing the door, stood thirteen Death Eaters, all in black cloaks with white masks shining. One of them stepped forward.
"Stand down, Tichondrius, you can't win. Give us the boy and you'll die easy." Delavan knew that voice.
"Malgon, you filthy traitor, they should've locked you up fifteen years ago," said Delavan. The Death Eater laughed, a rasp that coughed out of his throat, and full of malicious content. A second cloaked figure stepped out of the ring. This one was different; he had a silver hand, and was small, and when he spoke, his voice was high pitched.
"Must history repeat itself, Tichondrius? You may buy the boy a few precious minutes by standing here, giving him time, but you are making it harder on him, as you are on yourself." Anger suddenly snapped within Delavan, and he pointed his wand at the silver-handed man and shouted.
"Pelierius!" screamed Delavan, and a long jet of red shot out at the Death Eater. The figure held up its silver hand, and the blast slammed into it, and the hand grew red. Delavan watched in amazement as the hand shook violently. Suddenly the blast shot straight back at him, knocking into his stomach and sending him flying into the door behind him. Delavan moved his hand away from where he had grabbed at his stomach, and saw that it was slick with blood. Malgon came forward.
"Time to repay a few old debts, eh, Delavan?" Malgon pointed his wand at Delavan. "Crucio!"
Harry turned back towards the house once he was down the road about a hundred yards. He saw Voldemort's sign, the great green skull with the snake protruding from its mouth, hovering over the little farm house. Suddenly he heard a shout, followed by screams of pain. "Delavan!" Harry shouted. Then there was another shout, and a green flash illuminated the area for hundreds of feet around, and the screaming stopped. "No!" He began to run back towards the house, hoping to do something, anything, but he stopped. Delavan was dead, and there could be nothing accomplished by running right into Voldemort's hands. He began to turn back to the center of the village, when suddenly there was a shout from behind him.
"There he is!" someone yelled, and a long line of figures cloaked in black and wearing white masks began streaming towards him. Harry turned and sprinted, his legs pounding the gravel underneath him. There were shouts of command, and spells flew over his head, slamming into the ground in front of him, making craters that sat there smoldering. One whizzed past his ear, and Harry ducked to avoid another one right after that. Harry was fast, but the Death Eaters were fully grown men, and they were gaining on him. The different colored streaks of spells were flying all around him as he ran, ducking and dodging. There was a man right behind him! He reached out his hand, but suddenly the man fell forward, thrown to the ground by something in the dark. Something was swooping at Harry! He screamed and ran faster, but iron strong talons grabbed his arms, and suddenly he was flying off the ground, being hauled up by some type of great bird! He looked back behind him, and he saw the Death Eaters firing spells up at him, but Harry was too high, and the spells passed off harmlessly into the night. An arm reached down from on top of the bird, and hauled Harry up. He suddenly saw that what had picked him up was actually a hippogryph, and behind him sat.
"Sirius!" shouted Harry in delight. For there sat Sirius Black, Harry's godfather. "It looks like I came at about the right time, wouldn't you say?" said Sirius.
"How did you know to come?" asked Harry, amazed that he had escaped, and by the last possible way expected.
"Actually, I was sent by Dumbledore to bring you to the Weasley family. He seemed to think that you shouldn't be kept in one place the entire time, as Voldemort would be able to pinpoint your location if you stayed in one place long enough."
"Well, he sure was right, and you sure did show up in time. But." Harry stopped. "They killed Delavan." Sirius's face was grim, but when he spoke his voice was full of sadness.
"I know. I saw as I passed over. There was nothing I could have done, nor you, Harry. You did the right thing. He sacrificed himself so that you could live, and he wouldn't want you to spend the time he gave you dwelling on something that you could never of hoped to do. He was one of my friends, too, back at Hogwarts." Sirius was right, of course, but Harry could not suppress the sadness he felt. Another person had died on his account. Harry stayed silent for the rest of the long journey through the clouds, the only happy thought was that he would be going to stay with Ron and the rest of the Weasley family. But Harry tried to take Sirius's advice, and soon he was devoid of any thought of guilt he had had. The continuous motion of Buckbeak the hippogryph soon lulled him into a light doze.
Chapter 1 Out of Darkness.
"My Lord, we have brought you these incompetent Muggles from the east side of the village. They said they knew where he lived, but when the got a taste of my wand," Malgon twirled his wand between his fingers, "they became a bit difficult. Now the are blubbering on about cheese, but if you would like, I can shut them up for you." Voldemort moved forward out of the shadows of the trees, and he saw the two Muggles, bound and sobbing on the ground. They were both fully grown men, one with brown hair and a small beard, the other with black hair, and wild, shiny eyes, yet they screamed and whined on the ground like a pair of children at the whip.
"Quit your sniveling, fools," and Voldemort lashed out a hefty kick at the brown haired one, making him stop crying, but he continued to whimper.
"Please, let me go. what did I do to you?" the man said in a hoarse voice. It looked difficult for him to talk, because he had been beaten so much that his lips were swollen and his mouth looked unmanageable.
"I'll tell you what you did to me, Muggle, and I'll let you feel how angry I am about it as well." Voldemort pulled out his wand, a long thin strip of wood, blacker than the night around them.
"No! Please no! I'll do what you want. anything." the brown haired man quailed at the sight of the wand, curling up into a ball.
"You bastard!" screamed the black haired man. He suddenly jumped up, swinging his bound hands at Malgon. They hit Malgon square in the mask he was wearing, and Malgon collapsed, holding his face beneath the mask he wore. The black haired man sprinted into the night, dodging the trees that surrounded them. Voldemort held up his wand. "Avada Kadavra!" he shouted in a commanding voice, so that the air was suddenly filled with a blinding green light, and the shape of the deadly spell flew off into the night, thudding into the black haired man, killing him instantly. The man collapsed, no sign of death anywhere on his body, but a look of pure terror on his features.
"Now that's better," said Voldemort, looking down at the brown haired man. "Now, I know you will tell me everything you know about this boy. Where he lives, and what sort of surrounding lie in the area, and what of his aunt and uncle, and of any mail he has sent, and birds flying from his house, etcetera. I'm sure you know exactly what I'm talking about." Voldemort smiled at the man, who looked back in horror at the pale white face, the slits of a nose, and those red, red eyes. He nodded slowly, still staring. Voldemort gestured to the darkness, and another black cloaked and hooded figure emerged from the trees, the blank white mask the only thing visible in the dark night. The figure would have seemed exactly like any of the other Death Eaters there, except that the man's right hand was completely silver. I looked like a prosthetic hand, perhaps for someone who had lost their hand in an accident. But this was no ordinary prosthetic; it moved with the fluidity of a normal hand, the digits working deftly as it twirled a wand casually. Voldemort smiled. "Wormtail, Wormtail." he said in a silky voice to the small cloaked figure in front of him. Wormtail shifted uneasily, the mask seemed to shift in uncertainty.
"My Lord," Wormtail said in a squeaky, high pitched voice, "What would you ask of me?" the brown haired man lying captive on the ground noticed that the man named Wormtail seemed almost as frightened as he was.
Voldemort flicked his wand, and the captive lifted off the ground, hovering a foot from where he had just been laying, spinning slowly. "Wormtail, you will go with Malgon, and you will bring the boy to me. This man claims he knows where this boy I speak of lays in hiding, but if he shows any sign of eluding you, kill him." Voldemort flicked his wand again, and the bonds around the captive's hands and feet flew of, snapping as they tore and the vanished without a trace. The man then fell flat on his face in front of the man named Wormtail, and the masked man lifted him off the ground with his silver hand, showing surprising strength. Malgon lifted himself up as well, a little trickle of blood coming from underneath the mask where his nose and undoubtedly been broken.
"Get moving, Muggle," said Malgon, prodding the captive with his wand. The brown haired man moved off through the trees, and as he went, he saw a ghastly scene. As he walked, out of the darkness came more of the cloaked figures, all wearing the white masks, silent as shadows. There were many, and some seemed to suddenly appear, coming out from behind trees to joint the silent procession through the trees.
"Faster, Muggle," said Malgon again, and at this a small flicker of rage burnt up inside the captive man.
"My name is Gerard, not Muggle," he said with suppressed anger. Wormtail and Malgon snickered quietly, the only sound in the darkness.
"I'd be a little nicer, if I were you," said Wormtail, and Gerard was surprised to see that suck a squeaky voice could hold such menace. "We get to finish you off, once you've done your job. But we'll go easy on you, if you do this with out messing up. Now move!" the group of cloaked figures walked on, and soon they came to the end of the trees. Gerard went forward, looking out into the small field that separated the town of Boggelty Hedge from the forest that was the edge of the farming area. The group swept out of the trees, and as they walked out into the field, they formed a half circle around Gerard as he stumbled forward, frightened. Even though he was considered taller than most men, Gerard saw that the cloaked figures around him seemed a head taller than he was at least, but that might have been because he was crouched over, a bruise in his back making it painful to walk upright. A barn appeared out of the gloom, and as they drew closer, a farm house came visible. They plodded quietly through the yard, and out onto a gravel road. Down the road glimmered a few small lights of the tow Boggelty Hedge. Finally, Gerard spoke, "The boy is there, in that town. Now, must I take you further?" his voice seemed hollow on the darkness, yet screamingly loud.
"You have more to go, Muggle," said Wormtail, "Show us exactly where he lives." The group walked forward again, the half circle of cloaked figures staying silent in the dark.
Harry Potter woke suddenly, his scar searing with a sudden jerk of pain. He winced, and then cried out as another wake cut through his head. "Tichondrius!" Harry shouted, and rolled off his small cot. The Auror woke instantly, swinging his legs off the bed and standing. Delavan Tichondrius the Auror stood before Harry as he pulled on a dark blue cloak.
"Harry, what is it? Is he near?" Delavan asked, worry on his face. Harry clenched his forehead in pain, rocking on his heals as he talked through gritted teeth.
"My scar, its. hurting again." said Harry. Delavan went into the other room of the small house, and Harry heard him rummaging through a cabinet as he looked for something. He walked back into the room, carrying a small sealed vial. The vial was clear, and it contained a dark blue watery substance that frothed a lot at the top. Delavan handed it to Harry, who took it with his right hand while his left held his scar that still hurt. Delavan tore off the seal at the top, and Harry tipped it up and downed it in one gulp. It tasted sickly sweet, but immediately he felt the pain in his forehead ease. "Thanks, Delavan," said Harry. He sat back on his small bed as Delavan took the vial back into the other room. Harry looked around at the place that had been his home for the summer, and starting to think all this precaution was necessary. Dumbledore, along with Sirius, Harry's godfather, had agreed to have Harry kept under the supervision of one of the best Aurors. It was also decided that Harry would not live at his aunt and uncle's house, and he was sent to a small town out in the country of England called Boggelty Hedge. There he and his Auror companion, Delavan Tichondrius, had lived in the basement of an old couple who lived on the outskirts of the village. The Mortimors, the wizarding couple they were staying with, often didn't use magic, and so they blended in fine with the simple citizens of Boggelty Hedge. When they heard that Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was in trouble and needed a place to stay, they immediately offered their large basement, and turned it into a versatile living quarters. There Harry had been the entire summer, sometimes helping the Mortimors with keeping the chickens they raised in order, or walking in the woods that surrounded the farm land that stretched off for at least half a mile in any direction from Boggelty Hedge. He had been able to keep in touch with his two best friends, Hermione Granger, who had been in Bulgaria for most of the time, visiting the world famous Quidditch player, Victor Krum, and also with Ron Weasley, who had gone to Romania to visit his brother Charlie, who studied dragons. But, even though this way of life was far better than living with the horrible Dursleys, his only relatives, life was often lonely for Harry. Delavan was good company, and often kind, but he had also had to be stern to keep Harry from wandering into the middle of the town, so he wouldn't be suspected to be living there because Voldemort's spies were everywhere, or so it was rumored. The old and motherly Mrs. Mortimor gave Harry fudge, which she baked every Sunday, but she was growing deaf and it was hard to talk to her because he would always have to shout. Mr. Mortimor was also nice to Harry, but Harry didn't spend much time with him, because Mr. Mortimor would always drift off into a nap whenever Harry tried to carry on a conversation with him. Harry had also not been able to practice Quidditch, his favorite sport. Played in the wizarding world on broomsticks and with three balls, Harry was quite good at it. He was so good in fact, that he was the first First Year at Hogwarts in a century to play Quidditch on the House Teams. But now it seemed his peaceful little summer in the country was coming to an end. His scar was hurting, and that could only mean one thing: Voldemort was near.
"Harry," said Delavan sternly, "is he near? I need to know now if Voldemort is near." Harry grabbed his glasses from where he had set them next to his bed when he went to sleep, and put them on, blinking to adjust his eyes. He looked at the Auror with worry.
"The last time my scar hurt was when Voldemort was at Hogwarts, but how could he be here? I mean, this is a Muggle village, and what business would he have here anyway?" asked Harry. Delavan shook his head. He pulled the hood of his dark blue cloak up over his head, and grabbed his wand from the table where they ate.
"I'm going to investigate. Harry, this is serious. If he's here, I don't know what to do. He has grown powerful Harry, very powerful. If he gets his hands on you, you will not escape again. I don't mean to frighten you, but it is true. Now go, boy. Get your wand and your bag. Don't bother with the trunk, you may need to run." Harry grabbed his small haversack he kept a few of his possessions in when he went trekking in the woods. "What about Hedwig?" asked Harry, looking towards his beautiful snowy owl that had been his friend ever since he had entered the wizarding world.
"Let Hedwig out. She can find you where ever you will go. Now Harry, please! Go!" Harry noticed a note of urgency that he had never heard the Auror utter before. He grabbed his black cloak and threw it over his shoulders and picked up his small brown haversack, along with his wand. He headed for the small staircase that lead up and out of the basement into the Mortimors' house, but Delavan held him back. "Take the cellar stairs that lead out into the back. Make for the center of town, and wait for me there. If Voldemort's minions are abroad, or even Voldemort himself, you will need to be hidden, so stay to the shadows. Go." Harry ran back through the bed room and up another staircase in the back of the basement. He climbed up to the top, where there were two heavy wooden doors over the exit. He pushed with all his strength, and one of the doors creaked up and out, and Harry ran out into the night air, keeping to the shadows.
Delavan walked up the stairs and into the house. It was deathly quiet, and the darkness seemed to press in on his eyes. "Lumos!" he said under his breath, and his wand lit up, revealing the room. Mrs. and Mr. Mortimor lay dead on the floor, both facing down. A black scorch mark in the center of both of their backs, still smoldering. "Damn," he said, stepping carefully over the dead witch and wizard. Their wands lay close to their hands, but there was no sign of a fight. They must have been easy prey for the Death Eaters. He walked through the homely house, thinking of it as a death pit, and headed for the door. He opened it, and what he saw made his heart stop. There would be no escape for the Potter boy after all. The small yard was illuminated by a ghastly green light, the source of which was floating about a hundred feet above the house. A neon green skull with a snake coming out of its mouth floated in midair, giving off the light, but it was what the illuminated that made Delavan lose all hope. There, standing in a semi circle facing the door, stood thirteen Death Eaters, all in black cloaks with white masks shining. One of them stepped forward.
"Stand down, Tichondrius, you can't win. Give us the boy and you'll die easy." Delavan knew that voice.
"Malgon, you filthy traitor, they should've locked you up fifteen years ago," said Delavan. The Death Eater laughed, a rasp that coughed out of his throat, and full of malicious content. A second cloaked figure stepped out of the ring. This one was different; he had a silver hand, and was small, and when he spoke, his voice was high pitched.
"Must history repeat itself, Tichondrius? You may buy the boy a few precious minutes by standing here, giving him time, but you are making it harder on him, as you are on yourself." Anger suddenly snapped within Delavan, and he pointed his wand at the silver-handed man and shouted.
"Pelierius!" screamed Delavan, and a long jet of red shot out at the Death Eater. The figure held up its silver hand, and the blast slammed into it, and the hand grew red. Delavan watched in amazement as the hand shook violently. Suddenly the blast shot straight back at him, knocking into his stomach and sending him flying into the door behind him. Delavan moved his hand away from where he had grabbed at his stomach, and saw that it was slick with blood. Malgon came forward.
"Time to repay a few old debts, eh, Delavan?" Malgon pointed his wand at Delavan. "Crucio!"
Harry turned back towards the house once he was down the road about a hundred yards. He saw Voldemort's sign, the great green skull with the snake protruding from its mouth, hovering over the little farm house. Suddenly he heard a shout, followed by screams of pain. "Delavan!" Harry shouted. Then there was another shout, and a green flash illuminated the area for hundreds of feet around, and the screaming stopped. "No!" He began to run back towards the house, hoping to do something, anything, but he stopped. Delavan was dead, and there could be nothing accomplished by running right into Voldemort's hands. He began to turn back to the center of the village, when suddenly there was a shout from behind him.
"There he is!" someone yelled, and a long line of figures cloaked in black and wearing white masks began streaming towards him. Harry turned and sprinted, his legs pounding the gravel underneath him. There were shouts of command, and spells flew over his head, slamming into the ground in front of him, making craters that sat there smoldering. One whizzed past his ear, and Harry ducked to avoid another one right after that. Harry was fast, but the Death Eaters were fully grown men, and they were gaining on him. The different colored streaks of spells were flying all around him as he ran, ducking and dodging. There was a man right behind him! He reached out his hand, but suddenly the man fell forward, thrown to the ground by something in the dark. Something was swooping at Harry! He screamed and ran faster, but iron strong talons grabbed his arms, and suddenly he was flying off the ground, being hauled up by some type of great bird! He looked back behind him, and he saw the Death Eaters firing spells up at him, but Harry was too high, and the spells passed off harmlessly into the night. An arm reached down from on top of the bird, and hauled Harry up. He suddenly saw that what had picked him up was actually a hippogryph, and behind him sat.
"Sirius!" shouted Harry in delight. For there sat Sirius Black, Harry's godfather. "It looks like I came at about the right time, wouldn't you say?" said Sirius.
"How did you know to come?" asked Harry, amazed that he had escaped, and by the last possible way expected.
"Actually, I was sent by Dumbledore to bring you to the Weasley family. He seemed to think that you shouldn't be kept in one place the entire time, as Voldemort would be able to pinpoint your location if you stayed in one place long enough."
"Well, he sure was right, and you sure did show up in time. But." Harry stopped. "They killed Delavan." Sirius's face was grim, but when he spoke his voice was full of sadness.
"I know. I saw as I passed over. There was nothing I could have done, nor you, Harry. You did the right thing. He sacrificed himself so that you could live, and he wouldn't want you to spend the time he gave you dwelling on something that you could never of hoped to do. He was one of my friends, too, back at Hogwarts." Sirius was right, of course, but Harry could not suppress the sadness he felt. Another person had died on his account. Harry stayed silent for the rest of the long journey through the clouds, the only happy thought was that he would be going to stay with Ron and the rest of the Weasley family. But Harry tried to take Sirius's advice, and soon he was devoid of any thought of guilt he had had. The continuous motion of Buckbeak the hippogryph soon lulled him into a light doze.