Disclaimer: I own nothing. Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and her publishers. I just wrote a fic.
Chapter One - A Connection
For thirteen years the world laid quietly. But evil was brewing, trouble was seeping into cracks of dark places where hidden magic dwelled, and old alliances were forming. Hogsmeade lay in thick shadows, Hogwarts braced for cold winds, and homes acquainted with magic were tempted to deadlock the windows and doors. Diagon Alley, however, still radiated comfort. Especially on this particular night, when in the Leaky Cauldron, the Boy Who Lived, surrounded by friends, was comforted. The world now imitated his steps, his decisions. And if not yet, they would.
"And to Fred and George! May their last year be the most gratifying!" Mr. Weasley raised a tankard of Tom's best pumpkin juice.
"And may the pranks live on!" Ron chimed, sloshing on Hermione's robes as he swiped a glass full from the table.
"Here, here!" Fred and George cried, rising from their chairs and clanking their glasses together in a move of ecstatic joy.
Harry smiled. The evening had been intended to commend Fred and George on their many years of diligent work at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But it was turning into a parade of their personalized magic pranks, as Harry had expected it would.
George made a gurgling war call from deep in his throat as Fred rinsed Percy with the "cleansing fluid of past pumpkin spirits."
"Will do wonders for your hair, old chap," Fred added, tossing the towel Percy had produced from the tip of his wand into a forgotten corner of the dining room.
"His hair will smell of pumpkin for weeks," Hermione leaned toward Harry.
"Ahem!"
George was now tapping a crystal vase on the fireplace mantle with his (unused) salad fork, "Fred and I have an announcement to make."
"We do?" Fred stopped spiking Percy's hair, "OH! Yes, yes, we do."
"We have recently collaborated our finances -- ."
"Finances? You have finances?" Percy questioned doubtfully.
"Yes, now shut-up," Fred snapped, prodding Percy's head with his wand.
"As I was saying," George continued, "We have a total of 987 galleons in which to continue our pursuit of opening a joke shop after we finish up at school."
Fred murmured to Harry, "Nine hundred and eighty-seven galleons and one very expensive navy blue dress robe, which fits neither George nor me and will have to be passed to Ron."
Harry patted Fred on the shoulder, "You do keep a bargain, don't you?"
Mrs. Weasley shifted nervously in her seat. Harry figured that she was determined not to spoil the night by arguing with Fred and George on their career plans. He would later be forced to consider a different theory.
"Perhaps we should all turn in for the night," Mr. Weasley suggested, throwing down his napkin and heaving himself from his chair.
"Good idea, Arthur," Mrs. Weasley departed from the room.
Hermione and Ginny followed her.
"Aw, the party's over," Fred commented.
"Have a good year, boys," Mr. Weasley pulled Fred and George aside, explaining he couldn't see them to the station the following day.
Harry and Ron trudged upstairs to their rooms, both extremely full and tired.
When Harry entered his room, he saw that Hedwig had returned from a week long journey bearing a letter. Another was laying on the desk. One he immediately recognized to be in Sirius's careless scrawl. The other letter bore no name or greeting on the envelope. Harry opened the one from Sirius first. It gave vague information of Sirius's well-being as usual. But Harry was pleased to read that a "dear friend of his would be returning to teach that year."
"Remus," Harry breathed, breaking into a large grin. He would have to tell Ron and Hermione first thing in the morning.
He set the letter from Sirius aside and opened the mysterious one.
Harry,
Matter of great urgency. You must find it...must keep it...must know it.
They have me. Speak with Dumbledore at once about it. Do not show him letter.
Have to go.
Love,
James
Harry's fingers trembled. His head ached. His breathing was shallow. Sweat poured down the side of his face and bathed his ears. His throat was dry. He feared he couldn't speak, but....
"Hedwig! Where did this come from!" Harry fell on the floor in his urge to get to the window, "Who sent this! Did an owl come! Did you get it!"
Harry tripped yet again, finding his legs useless. Once he made it to the window he flung the upper half of his body over the sill and flailed his arms about, blindly attempting to catch the creature that delivered the letter. But the owl, if there ever was one, was gone. His chin hit the sill, and he felt blood smothered between his skin and the wood. His vision was clouded, his glasses fogged and streaked with sweat -- cold sweat -- but he could make out two figures in the alley.
"You there!" he screamed into the alley.
"Oh, hey there, Harry! Care to see some fireworks? New and improved!"
It was just Fred and George practicing the havoc they would reek on Hogwarts over the following months. They would never carry a prank as far as to send a letter signed by Harry's father.
Without replying, Harry sunk against the wall under the window. He still gripped the letter. It couldn't be from his father. His father was dead. Who would send such a letter? Voldemort? The Death Eaters? That must be it. It...and what was 'it'?
Rekindled hatred replacing his shock, Harry penned a hasty letter to whoever sent the sick, confusing one.
You cannot be my father.
"Hedwig," Harry stroked the snowy owl, "if you know who sent this letter, take mine to that person."
Hedwig looked weary but accepted the letter and flew out the window.
"Be careful," Harry added as an afterthought.
The six Hogwarts bound students, including four Weasleys, Harry and Hermione, awoke at a decent hour of nine o'clock the next morning. They each hastily packed their bags, hurriedly ate breakfast, and said quick good byes to wizards and witches they had met in the Leaky Cauldron over the past few days. Ron even promised to send this lovely red head a letter once he got to school. She was visiting with relatives in England and attended a foreign school. After much effort, Harry and Hermione managed to pull Ron away from the table where she was sitting and guide him into the street where Mrs. Weasley and Percy had placed their trunks.
"Oh, drat!" Hermione exclaimed, slapping her hand to her forehead.
"What is it, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked.
"I forgot to pick up my order from the apothecary. I promised to get it sometime this morning before we left. It will only take me a moment."
Hermione turned to enter the Leaky Cauldron.
"I'll go with her," Harry proposed.
They rushed to the brick wall and tapped it anxiously. In seconds, Diagon Alley was revealed.
And so was a great commotion.
Women draped in cloaks ran screaming with small children. Shopkeepers were fleeing out of their stores to see what was the matter. Men were clustered in the middle of the street. It appeared that they were circled around something. Harry broke through the mass of hysterical women and children and joined the wizards who were observing whatever it was they were gathered around. Hermione followed him.
"Excuse me," Harry said meekly, trying to get through the circle of shocked and baffled wizards.
Once the men's attention was on the small teenage boy, they abruptly jumped from his path and allowed him to come to the center of the circle.
"Harry Potter," one whispered.
"He'll know what to do."
"Oh, come now, he is a child."
Harry came to a stop, repulsed by the sight that lay at his feet.
"Harry!" Hermione gasped.
A large imprint of the Dark Mark was branded into the street's bricks. The memory of the letter he had received the night before flooded Harry's mind, and he kicked and spat at the imprint in anguish. The men around him seemed to approve of his reaction, for they too began to kick at the mark.
"Would everyone please back up?" Hermione asked politely.
The wizards more than obeyed and left Harry and Hermione to stand aghast and alone in the middle of the street.
"Harry...we have to go," Hermione grasped his shoulders.
Too many thoughts were running simultaneously through Harry's mind for him to sort.
"Okay," he said, suddenly feeling weak.
He turned to leave but not before noticing Hermione lean down and pry a singed brick from a weak and crumbled part of the street. She placed it in the book bag that was never separated from her. Harry didn't ask. They began to make their way to the apothecary on Hermione's insistence.
Diagon Alley became shrouded in a depressed cloak of air and sky. For the Boy Who Lived was shrouded with a dark cloak on his thoughts. He too was depressed.
a/n: Please review. I'm not sure when chapter two will be up. Hopefully soon. Keep tabs on it.