My first fic!!! (What a step...) Anyway I hope you like it, it's part of a series, I think– its a little too early to tell right now, and I'm sorry about the spelling of Mudugnous- I don't have GoF on hand right now to check it out. So read and review please... without further ado I present...
THE THIRD CAMP
CHAPTER I– A STORM TO ROCK ITS VERY FOUNDATIONS
Albus Dumbledore stared around the mahogany table looking at all he had constructed over the last thirty years. Dumbledore could only hope that his building would stand this greatest- and hopefully last- storm to rock its very foundations. He hoped his aurors were ready. Albus looked around the table, seeing faces weary and untried,. Sitting amongst each other, banded together in their common quest. He saw Snape, his face veiled in dark shadow, Mudugnous Fletcher back from his abbreviated retirement, and Minerva, his right hand. Alastor Moody was glaring around the room acting as if everyone had Sirius Black hidden under their cloaks. In fact, one did, Sirius sat in the corner, his face hidden in the depths of a hood, Remus sitting at his side. Only one seat stood empty. Suddenly the door flew open and Arthur Weasley fell into the room.
"Sorry I'm late," his face looked pale and strained, "But I saw this on the way–" Arthur strode over to the table and threw down a copy of the Daily Prophet– blazoned across the front page, staring up at the, with soulless gaping eyes was the dark mark.
"Who?" McGonagall asked in a hollow sounding voice.
Arthur sighed before taking his seat, "Karkaroff, supposedly he was on his way back to Drumstang when You-Know-Who caught up with him. He was found in several pieces..."
The entire table grimaced and all eyes looked to Dumbledore hoping to see some answer in his voice. Finally after a silence that seemed to last an eternity, he spoke. "If anything, this only makes our cause more urgent. When Voldemort strikes, we must strike back."
Snape looked up, his black eyes glittering, "And how long til he strikes us down? So many of our so called allies have joined him already the Parks, the O'Brians– he is growing stronger everyday as we loose our stranglehold. The odds are against us."
Dumbledore's face was traced with the shadow of a smile, "Not so," he murmured, "Not so– we have something Voldemort never counted on, we have Harry Potter."
----
At that particular moment, Harry wasn't feeling very brave, or clever, or heroic in any stretch of the imagination. He was worrying, which, even though he knew it would do no good, seemed to be a major occupation these days. Harry didn't even have his friends to take his mind off his ever winding series of thoughts. All of the letters Ron had written had been hurried and brief, and ever since Hermione had gone to Bulgaria to visit Viktor, her letters had been few and far between. So he was left with only his own memories, snapshots playing over and over in a sadistic slid show; Voldemort's red cat eyes, his parents- ghosts from a wand, Wormtail's bleeding stump of a hand, Cedric spread across the ground like a rag doll, and the echo– the echo of a high pitched laugh...
Harry thought it impossible to express how he felt, its was hard to imagine that a year ago his worries has extended only to Quiddich matches and Dudley's diet. For his entire life, Voldemort had been a far away menace that he had managed to defeat three times, even after he came head to head with him in the Chamber of Secrets, his evil-there was no other word for it- had never really registered. In all his life, Harry had never seriously believed that he could die, and now, seeing Cedric's limp form blazoned into his psyche, he wished with every ounce of soul he would never have to see Ron, Hermione, Sirius– lying there, and for the first time in his life, he feared his own death.
A squawk from Hedwig brought Harry back to reality. Collapsing onto his bed, Harry weighed his options, he could lie upstairs and mope, decending further and further into misery, or he could go downstairs and eat. Dursleys or no, he desperately needed a distraction from the visions of Sirius receiving the Dementor's Kiss and Hagrid's hut with the Dark Mark swirling overhead. If something had happened to either of them, he would have heard... right?
----
When Harry entered the kitchen, Dudley's eyes didn't bedge from "SPACE INVADERS OF DOOM" blowing up aliens all over his TV set. Uncle Vernon was reading the paper and Aunt Petunia making dry wheat toast, the carbohydrates a reward to Dudley for losing 10 pounds. Harry for the life of him, couldn't see the difference, Dudley had matured into a full grown hog.
Aunt Petunia scowled as she nudged the toast towards Harry carefully, like he was under some sort of quarrentine, then she left to get the mail. You didn't need to speak Parseltounge to interpret Uncle Vernon's meaningful grunt as "Eat and get out". Harry set about doing as such, not to please the Dursleys but simply to save his wavering sanity. Silence broken only by the death cries of B-movie aliens reigned in the room.
A clicking of high heels renounced Aunt Petunia's presence. Harry pretended to be engrossed in the intricacies of his toast so he could avoid her disapproving stare. Uncle Vernon put down his paper and began to leaf through the letters muttering to himself, "...could have sworn I already paid that bill... Marge, hope she's well... no I don't want a motor bike, thank you very much... who the blazes is Tom Riddle..."
Harry's head snapped up and breaking his unstated rule for invisibility yelled, "Give me that!"
Uncle Vernon gave him the stare he reserved for mental patients and Arthur Weasley and began to open the letter– holding his breath, Harry was relieved to find it only contained one slip of paper, no spells, no tricks. Uncle Vernon snorted, "What nonsense is this?"
"What does it say?" Harry asked, dreading the answer.
Vernon considered him for a moment, as if weighing the pros and cons of civility before tossing him the letter. On a scrap of parchment two words were printed–
ADAVA KADAVRA
"Who is this Riddle?" Uncle Vernon was beginning to blather, "I don't want your friends contacting this house–"
"He's trying to kill me," Harry said simply, still staring at the words. He needed Sirius– Dumbledore, anyone...
"What?" Uncle Vernon's face went from purple to white in a heartbeat.
Suddenly, a loud screech sounded in Harry's ears and looking up at the stunned faces of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia (Dudley was still too wrapped up in "SPACE INVADERS OF DOOM" to notice) he was relieved to find that he wasn't the only one to hear it. A chirping, twittering, quivering, zipping, chortling all around annoying little gray ball of feather and parchment did several dilapidated loop-de-loops before banging into the side of Harry's head, and falling, dazed, right into Uncle Vernon's oatmeal. "Ow– Pig..." he muttered.
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia just gaped.
His Uncle ventured to pluck the cheerfully twittering and sopping wet ball of feathers that was also his best friend's owl out of his breakfast. "And what," he said hsi voice radiating pure menace, "is this?"
"It's Pig.. Ron's owl," at Uncle Vernon's blank look he continued, "You know Ron... the one who I went to the Quiddich World Cup with?" Dudley's hands moved instinctivly to his bottom. "Ah yes," Uncle Vernon growled, "The one who blew up my fireplace."
Harry didn't have anything to say to this so he just smiled, "Do you think... I could have my letter?"
Ignoring him, Uncle Vernon opened the letter, taking his time, obviously enjoying Harry's discomfort. Reading the first few lines, his grimace became more and more menacing. Even Dudley had torn himself away from the television to watch Harry's death sentence. "Dear Harry," he bagan, and with a shock Harry realized Uncle Vernon was reading the letter out loud, "Dumbledore said you could come! Mum's coming today, we got a new car so we don't have to blow up the fireplace this time. Hope the Dursleys aren't being too awful. Hope you're well too– Ron. PS- Karkaroff is dead, according to Dad, his body was found in several pieces. You-Know-Who of course, but Fudge told the Daily Prophet that it was the work of a lunatic, hope he doesn't try to pin it on Sirius. Bye again– Ron."
Harry felt a sudden rush of adrenaline, the excitement of seeing Ron coupled with the fear from the news of Voldemort. It had only been a month since Cedric's death...
Uncle Vernon's harsh voice bit into his thoughts, "Explain."
Harry stared at him, caught off balance, "What do you mean– explain?"
"This letter!" Uncle Vernon exploded, his face swelling up like an overgrown raspberry, "Karkaroff? You-Know-Who, I certainly do not know who!"
Harry didn't know where exactly to begin, he had never discussed his life with the Dursleys, "You-Know-Who is Voldemort, he's an dark wizard... his real name is Tom Riddle–"
Uncle Vernon stared at Ron's letter, "The one who blew up your parents."
There was a pause in which Harry murmured, "Yes."
"Good for noting gits they were, " Uncle Vernon smirked.
That was too much, Harry leapt out of his seat, not caring if he was rising to the bait and stood glowering at Vernon, "Take that back!"
"It's the truth, boy. Why else do you think you turned out– this way."
"He's going to kill me if I don't go with Ron!"
"Good," Vernon gave him a sickly smile, "Then I'll get my spare bedroom back."
Harry stopped, the Dursleys hated him yes, wanted him out of the house, but he had never seriously thought they wanted him dead. "If he comes here you wont have a spare bedroom anymore." Harry said, trying to keep his anger in check. "Adava Kadavra is the killing curse."
Aunt Petunia burst into tears.
Then, as if the fates were conspiring against Harry, the doorbell rang.
THE THIRD CAMP
CHAPTER I– A STORM TO ROCK ITS VERY FOUNDATIONS
Albus Dumbledore stared around the mahogany table looking at all he had constructed over the last thirty years. Dumbledore could only hope that his building would stand this greatest- and hopefully last- storm to rock its very foundations. He hoped his aurors were ready. Albus looked around the table, seeing faces weary and untried,. Sitting amongst each other, banded together in their common quest. He saw Snape, his face veiled in dark shadow, Mudugnous Fletcher back from his abbreviated retirement, and Minerva, his right hand. Alastor Moody was glaring around the room acting as if everyone had Sirius Black hidden under their cloaks. In fact, one did, Sirius sat in the corner, his face hidden in the depths of a hood, Remus sitting at his side. Only one seat stood empty. Suddenly the door flew open and Arthur Weasley fell into the room.
"Sorry I'm late," his face looked pale and strained, "But I saw this on the way–" Arthur strode over to the table and threw down a copy of the Daily Prophet– blazoned across the front page, staring up at the, with soulless gaping eyes was the dark mark.
"Who?" McGonagall asked in a hollow sounding voice.
Arthur sighed before taking his seat, "Karkaroff, supposedly he was on his way back to Drumstang when You-Know-Who caught up with him. He was found in several pieces..."
The entire table grimaced and all eyes looked to Dumbledore hoping to see some answer in his voice. Finally after a silence that seemed to last an eternity, he spoke. "If anything, this only makes our cause more urgent. When Voldemort strikes, we must strike back."
Snape looked up, his black eyes glittering, "And how long til he strikes us down? So many of our so called allies have joined him already the Parks, the O'Brians– he is growing stronger everyday as we loose our stranglehold. The odds are against us."
Dumbledore's face was traced with the shadow of a smile, "Not so," he murmured, "Not so– we have something Voldemort never counted on, we have Harry Potter."
----
At that particular moment, Harry wasn't feeling very brave, or clever, or heroic in any stretch of the imagination. He was worrying, which, even though he knew it would do no good, seemed to be a major occupation these days. Harry didn't even have his friends to take his mind off his ever winding series of thoughts. All of the letters Ron had written had been hurried and brief, and ever since Hermione had gone to Bulgaria to visit Viktor, her letters had been few and far between. So he was left with only his own memories, snapshots playing over and over in a sadistic slid show; Voldemort's red cat eyes, his parents- ghosts from a wand, Wormtail's bleeding stump of a hand, Cedric spread across the ground like a rag doll, and the echo– the echo of a high pitched laugh...
Harry thought it impossible to express how he felt, its was hard to imagine that a year ago his worries has extended only to Quiddich matches and Dudley's diet. For his entire life, Voldemort had been a far away menace that he had managed to defeat three times, even after he came head to head with him in the Chamber of Secrets, his evil-there was no other word for it- had never really registered. In all his life, Harry had never seriously believed that he could die, and now, seeing Cedric's limp form blazoned into his psyche, he wished with every ounce of soul he would never have to see Ron, Hermione, Sirius– lying there, and for the first time in his life, he feared his own death.
A squawk from Hedwig brought Harry back to reality. Collapsing onto his bed, Harry weighed his options, he could lie upstairs and mope, decending further and further into misery, or he could go downstairs and eat. Dursleys or no, he desperately needed a distraction from the visions of Sirius receiving the Dementor's Kiss and Hagrid's hut with the Dark Mark swirling overhead. If something had happened to either of them, he would have heard... right?
----
When Harry entered the kitchen, Dudley's eyes didn't bedge from "SPACE INVADERS OF DOOM" blowing up aliens all over his TV set. Uncle Vernon was reading the paper and Aunt Petunia making dry wheat toast, the carbohydrates a reward to Dudley for losing 10 pounds. Harry for the life of him, couldn't see the difference, Dudley had matured into a full grown hog.
Aunt Petunia scowled as she nudged the toast towards Harry carefully, like he was under some sort of quarrentine, then she left to get the mail. You didn't need to speak Parseltounge to interpret Uncle Vernon's meaningful grunt as "Eat and get out". Harry set about doing as such, not to please the Dursleys but simply to save his wavering sanity. Silence broken only by the death cries of B-movie aliens reigned in the room.
A clicking of high heels renounced Aunt Petunia's presence. Harry pretended to be engrossed in the intricacies of his toast so he could avoid her disapproving stare. Uncle Vernon put down his paper and began to leaf through the letters muttering to himself, "...could have sworn I already paid that bill... Marge, hope she's well... no I don't want a motor bike, thank you very much... who the blazes is Tom Riddle..."
Harry's head snapped up and breaking his unstated rule for invisibility yelled, "Give me that!"
Uncle Vernon gave him the stare he reserved for mental patients and Arthur Weasley and began to open the letter– holding his breath, Harry was relieved to find it only contained one slip of paper, no spells, no tricks. Uncle Vernon snorted, "What nonsense is this?"
"What does it say?" Harry asked, dreading the answer.
Vernon considered him for a moment, as if weighing the pros and cons of civility before tossing him the letter. On a scrap of parchment two words were printed–
ADAVA KADAVRA
"Who is this Riddle?" Uncle Vernon was beginning to blather, "I don't want your friends contacting this house–"
"He's trying to kill me," Harry said simply, still staring at the words. He needed Sirius– Dumbledore, anyone...
"What?" Uncle Vernon's face went from purple to white in a heartbeat.
Suddenly, a loud screech sounded in Harry's ears and looking up at the stunned faces of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia (Dudley was still too wrapped up in "SPACE INVADERS OF DOOM" to notice) he was relieved to find that he wasn't the only one to hear it. A chirping, twittering, quivering, zipping, chortling all around annoying little gray ball of feather and parchment did several dilapidated loop-de-loops before banging into the side of Harry's head, and falling, dazed, right into Uncle Vernon's oatmeal. "Ow– Pig..." he muttered.
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia just gaped.
His Uncle ventured to pluck the cheerfully twittering and sopping wet ball of feathers that was also his best friend's owl out of his breakfast. "And what," he said hsi voice radiating pure menace, "is this?"
"It's Pig.. Ron's owl," at Uncle Vernon's blank look he continued, "You know Ron... the one who I went to the Quiddich World Cup with?" Dudley's hands moved instinctivly to his bottom. "Ah yes," Uncle Vernon growled, "The one who blew up my fireplace."
Harry didn't have anything to say to this so he just smiled, "Do you think... I could have my letter?"
Ignoring him, Uncle Vernon opened the letter, taking his time, obviously enjoying Harry's discomfort. Reading the first few lines, his grimace became more and more menacing. Even Dudley had torn himself away from the television to watch Harry's death sentence. "Dear Harry," he bagan, and with a shock Harry realized Uncle Vernon was reading the letter out loud, "Dumbledore said you could come! Mum's coming today, we got a new car so we don't have to blow up the fireplace this time. Hope the Dursleys aren't being too awful. Hope you're well too– Ron. PS- Karkaroff is dead, according to Dad, his body was found in several pieces. You-Know-Who of course, but Fudge told the Daily Prophet that it was the work of a lunatic, hope he doesn't try to pin it on Sirius. Bye again– Ron."
Harry felt a sudden rush of adrenaline, the excitement of seeing Ron coupled with the fear from the news of Voldemort. It had only been a month since Cedric's death...
Uncle Vernon's harsh voice bit into his thoughts, "Explain."
Harry stared at him, caught off balance, "What do you mean– explain?"
"This letter!" Uncle Vernon exploded, his face swelling up like an overgrown raspberry, "Karkaroff? You-Know-Who, I certainly do not know who!"
Harry didn't know where exactly to begin, he had never discussed his life with the Dursleys, "You-Know-Who is Voldemort, he's an dark wizard... his real name is Tom Riddle–"
Uncle Vernon stared at Ron's letter, "The one who blew up your parents."
There was a pause in which Harry murmured, "Yes."
"Good for noting gits they were, " Uncle Vernon smirked.
That was too much, Harry leapt out of his seat, not caring if he was rising to the bait and stood glowering at Vernon, "Take that back!"
"It's the truth, boy. Why else do you think you turned out– this way."
"He's going to kill me if I don't go with Ron!"
"Good," Vernon gave him a sickly smile, "Then I'll get my spare bedroom back."
Harry stopped, the Dursleys hated him yes, wanted him out of the house, but he had never seriously thought they wanted him dead. "If he comes here you wont have a spare bedroom anymore." Harry said, trying to keep his anger in check. "Adava Kadavra is the killing curse."
Aunt Petunia burst into tears.
Then, as if the fates were conspiring against Harry, the doorbell rang.