Author's Note: OK, well, glad you could make it. This is officially a "Sceptre of Azrial" rewrite. It should be a lot better than that tale, though. It was just really… bad. I didn't like it. Anyway, it will be a little different, a bit darker and there are a few plot changes I want to make. Well, I hope you enjoy the new story. I'll probably end up taking "Sceptre of Azrial" down, eventually.
Oh, and you've probably noticed how long this chapter is. It just wouldn't end. Well, I suppose most of my chapters will probably be shorter, although don't expect it to be by too much. This story will probably have quite long chapters. Sorry if you have a problem with that.
Disclaimer: What can I say? I do not own the characters. That right belongs to J.K. Rowling. No, I just own this plot. I am making no money, this is just fun. This goes for all further chapters and the rest of this story. I won't post this again.
Warning: The "M" rating in this story was just a joke, for the hell of it, you know. Idiots! Of course it is serious. Yes, there are naughty, awful and bad things in this story. That is why it is rated "M". Insert Gasping Here Deal with it or leave. I won't warn you again.
Now, on with the show!
-:-O-:-
Harry Potter and the Cursed Amulet
I
Building Barriers
"Solitude vivifies; isolation kills."
Joseph Roux
The mist swirled around the solitary headstone lying askew in the loose soil of the graveyard. It danced along the rocky, uneven surface of the corner, where a wayward curse had struck the stone and obliterated a small section. The small breeze that accompanied it picked up the small particles that had been left behind and tossed them through the air, sending them dancing and twirling through the night sky.
Harry lowered his wand, the words of the curse fading from his lips. He could feel the unworthy presence still cowering behind one of the headstones, petrified of the inevitable.
"You can't hide forever," Harry hissed.
A faint noise could be heard behind a gravestone, a shuffling of the feet, an anxious mistake. Harry gave a wry smile, pinpointing the exact location of his victim. Slowly he began his walk forward, the vicious predator bearing down on the helpless prey.
"Crucio!" Harry spat; pointing his wand down at the cowering fool crouched behind the headstone Harry was looking over. The man dropped to the ground instantly, convulsing in pain, unable to heal and unable to die.
"Had enough?" Harry slurred, a certain gleam in his eyes, joy shining for every pore of him. He was enjoying this immensely.
The man could say nothing; his body cursed beyond repair. He could merely lie there and await his end. Harry snorted at how easily he had given up.
"Goodbye then, Rufus Scrimgeour," Harry said. With that he raised his wand ominously above his head. Pointing it down to the ground he simply said, "Avada Kedavra."
Harry shot up in bed, drenched in sweat, his head pounding in pain. His hand shot towards his forehead, gripping his lightning bolt scar and trying as hard as he could to stop the pain. Harry knew, however, that this was in vain. Nothing but time healed the throbbing pain caused by his vivid dreams.
Harry fell back down onto his bed at 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging and lay there, staring at the ceiling. He felt hollow, emotionally drained. It was the feeling that usually seemed to accompany his journey into Voldemort's mind. He tried to suppress spiteful emotions that still lingered in his soul, despite the connection to the Dark Lord being broken. He still felt the anger, the spite and the sheer unconditional hate.
Harry tried as hard as he could to let the emotions go, to open a door and let them pour out and flow away. He thought of the happiest memories he had: flying through the air on his broom, playing wizard's chess with Ron and long nights spent in the common room with Hermione simply talking.
Slowly the bad emotions began to seep away and the pain drifted with them. Harry felt himself become Harry again and sighed at the relief that washed over him. Harry just lay there and let the happier times in his life wash over him and sooth his pain.
That small happiness was short lived, however, when Harry heard his uncle's voice bellow at him from below.
-:-O-:-
Ron sat at the kitchen table of The Burrow, trying his hardest to concentrate on the 6th year Potion textbook Hermione had forced onto him. However, he wasn't having much luck. He really didn't care what the various ingredients to whatever blasted potion he was reading about were, nor did he care how they were to be prepared. He also didn't care where this potion originated, how it was designed and the subtle stirring techniques it required. Besides, he had something far better to do with his time.
His eyes once again slid over the top of his book and rested upon the beautiful Hermione Granger, absorbed in her Potions textbook.
Ever since Hermione had arrived at The Burrow, Ron was amazed at the transformation that must have occurred during the few weeks she had spent with her muggle parents. Her hair had been straightened – at least as straight as her bushy hair could get – apparently with some weird muggle apparatus, as magic was not allowed outside school. She has also had it cut, so it fell down the side of her face in short locks that framed her face beautifully, the curls at the end bobbing against her shoulder. That was the major difference, and it was this difference that led to Ron discovering just how beautiful Hermione's face was when the bushy hair didn't mask it. Now, Ron took it upon himself to stare at Hermione for long periods – namely, whenever she made him read.
Ron was startled out of his thoughts by a rapping at the window. He turned to see Harry's owl, Hedwig, hovering outside the window. A broad smile overtook his face and he launched himself out of his chair to let the owl inside. Hedwig flew inside and the fluttering of wings was enough to rouse Hermione from her trance-like state. A broad grin spread across her features as Ron's had across his.
"What did he say?" Hermione asked, as Ron tore the letter from Hedwig's leg and began opening it.
"Will you let me read it first?" he replied sarcastically, mock annoyance replacing his goofy grin.
"Well, will you hurry up about it!"
Ron looked back down to the letter and proceeded to complete opening it, the grin once again taking up residence on his face. He paused as he read the letter, his grin replaced by a look of confusion before finally settling into a frown.
"What is it?" Hermione asked, worried. Ron just handed her the letter as a response.
\ Dear Ron,/ That would be great, thanks.
\ From,
/ Harry.
Hermione bit her lip firmly, her worried expression growing in intensity. Normally her friend would be thrilled at the idea of coming to The Burrow and escaping his awful relatives, but his reply was short and blunt and Hermione worried what that meant. It most certainly couldn't be a good thing, that was for sure.
-:-O-:-
Harry lay on his bed, tears slowly trickling down his cheeks, his uncle's words still ringing in his ears.
"You'll never be good enough…"
Harry tried all he could to forget his uncle's words that rang ominously in his ears, but the handprints on his face that still stung red wouldn't let him forget them.
"You'll never amount to anything boy…"
Harry felt like his body was about to give out, like everything was about to end. He heart ached and his body ached with it. He wished it would all just end.
"You're the reason that idiot boy and your stupid godfather are dead…"
Some had somehow told Uncle Vernon everything, and his taunts struck Harry deeper than they ever had before.
"You won't be able to kill him, boy…"
Harry chest ached, but still his minded whirled, driving him deeper and deeper into his lone misery. No one else would ever be able to understand him.
"You'll be the reason everyone else dies…"
Ron wouldn't understand. Hermione wouldn't understand. Not even Dumbledore could understand the burden.
"When you can't kill him…"
He was alone.
-:-O-:-
Harry sat, staring out of the window of Number 4 Privet Drive, watching the world pass him by. His trunk sat packed beside him; Hedwig fluttering about in her cage on his other side. Harry's mind was blank, his body felt hollow. Sadness crept around the edges of his consciousness, threatening to wash into him and devour him in one swift, foul motion. He vaguely sensed the sadness there and that fact in itself saddened him. But he couldn't cheer himself up – there was nothing happy to cheer himself up with.
"You going somewhere, boy?" his uncle spat at him, having noticed the trunk and caged owl. Harry wasn't supposed to take his things out of his room unless he was leaving, his relatives didn't want to look at them unless it signalled his leave.
When Harry didn't immediately reply, Vernon Dursley swept forward and turned Harry's chair around in a mad gesture so that Harry no longer faced out the window but into the centre of the room. Vernon clasped the top of Harry's shirt and pulled him to his feet.
Slapping him hard across the face, Vernon said, "You answer me when I bother talking to you, you understand?" Vernon's face didn't move an inch, his eyes boring into Harry's skull, penetrating Harry's brain, seemingly reading his thoughts. Harry felt the sadness stampeding in from the edges and fill him up, overwhelming him. He felt tears well up behind his eyes, threatening to break free of their prison and stream down his face.
"You understand, boy?" Uncle Vernon reiterated, punctuating his words with another slap across the face. Vernon's face shook with rage and Harry feared another outburst was imminent when they were interrupted by the loud and deliberate sound of a man clearing his throat from behind Vernon.
"I hope I am not interrupting anything," Albus Dumbledore said, perfectly calmly as if he just walked in on the two of them watching television. His face matched his voice and the only glitch in the calm portrait was his arm raised and tensed, a wand clutched in his hand. Vernon immediately dropped Harry to the floor.
"You can't use magic on me," Vernon said, but he still backed away from his nephew, knowing full well that Dumbledore wouldn't mind breaking that rule one little bit.
"Come on, Harry," Albus said, his presence cheering Harry slightly, although not enough for a smile. Nevertheless, he pushed back the tears and forced himself to be strong, immediately standing and making a move for his trunk.
"Never mind them, Harry," Albus said, flicking his wand and levitating them through the air.
"Thank you, Professor," Harry answered politely, although his head remained in a fairly lowered position.
"You better not..." Vernon began bravely, although his nervous showed in his voice.
"Goodbye Vernon," Albus stated loudly, his voice rebounding off the walls of the small lounge room. With that the two of them, Hedwig and all of Harry's belongings were gone.
-:-O-:-
Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter apparated to the gate of The Burrow and for a moment neither moved. Harry's body still shook slightly, his mind still playing for him the memories of what had just happened. He felt miserable and even the sight of The Burrow, the sight of an escape, couldn't cheer him up.
"Harry," Dumbledore said softly, when he finally broke the silence. His voice was calming and reassuring, although it did little to break Harry's foul mood. "Did it happen often?"
Harry nodded in response; it was all he could manage. He bit his lip, hoping his Headmaster wouldn't probe too deep.
"Come on," Dumbledore said, placing his hand on Harry's shoulder, "let's get you inside." Harry was grateful he left it at that and let Dumbledore lead him up to the Weasley's front door. As Dumbledore knocked, he found himself feeling a slight twinge of fear, but he quickly buried it not letting himself believe he feared seeing his friends.
"Who is it?" Molly Weasley's voice drifted through the timber door and met Harry's ears.
"The Cheshire Cat and the White Rabbit," Dumbledore replied instantly. Harry eyes shot up from their position trained at the ground. Harry heard the sound of several locks being charmed out of their shut position and old hinges being moved. Soon, Harry saw Mrs Molly Weasley standing in front of him.
"Albus," she said happily, "Harry. Come in, come in." She stood to the side and ushered them into the room and kept them moving into the kitchen where she promptly sat the two of them down at the table.
"Tea?" she offered.
"Thank you, Molly," Albus replied kindly. Two sets of eyes turned to Harry.
"Yes, thanks," Harry answered, some of the gloominess still evident in his voice, although most of it was masked well.
"Oh, Harry, the family'll be so glad you're here. We've all missed you so..." Molly said, her murmurings continued as she made the tea. But, Harry wasn't listening. He was finding the wood grains in the tables far more interesting.
"Molly," Dumbledore politely interjected, noticing Harry's distant mood. "Harry has had a rather... trying day, and it is getting a little late. Perhaps it would be beneficial if we let him rest."
"Of course!" Molly exclaimed, as if it had merely slipped her mind. "Come, Harry, I'll show you to your room."
Harry stood up, grabbed his trunk and owl that Dumbledore had levitated behind him for some time and followed Molly Weasley up the stairs towards his bedroom. He lumbered through the doorway, with his luggage in tow.
"Oh, let me help you with that, Harry," Molly said kindly. She flickered her wand and, muttering something Harry couldn't hear, his trunk instantly flew to the foot of his bed and proceeded to unpack itself, his clothes flying into the wardrobes. Harry hobbled towards his bed and collapsed onto it.
"Well, sleep soundly Harry," Mrs Weasley said, closing the door behind her as she left her room. She went to leave down the hallway but decided on something first. She flicked her wand and placed a locking and silencing spell on the door so that only people on the inside of the room could open the door and they couldn't hear the cacophony that was sure to ensue when everyone learnt Harry had arrived. Harry looked awfully troubled.
Harry was left alone in his room as Molly headed off down the hallway. He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. Almost instantly, he was asleep.
He stood in the middle of a graveyard, Death Eaters circling around him. They were sneering at him from behind their masks, he could tell. Their malicious words were ringing in his ears. Taunting him. Hurting him.
"You'll never be good enough…"
"You'll never amount to anything boy…"
"You're the reason that idiot boy and your stupid godfather are dead…"
Then he saw them, two figures standing in shadow at the back of the graveyard, partly shielded by headstones, partly masked by the darkness. Harry ran towards them, wanting to touch them, feel them, talk to them. But when he got there, they just stared at him before turning their backs him and walking away. They blamed him, Harry could tell.
"You won't be able to kill him, boy…"
"You'll be the reason everyone else dies…"
"When you can't kill him…"
Then memories of Voldemort's twisted features came back to him.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Harry awoke in a sweat, shaking from head to toe and clutching the covers tightly around him. His eyes were wide and blank and stared at the far wall of the bedroom at The Burrow. He felt scared, he felt lonely, but mostly, he felt guilty.
He didn't move, excluding the constant shaking, or even try to move. He just lay there, as miserable as ever, wishing the world would just leave him alone and pass him by.
-:-O-:-
"Hermione, we have to do something," Ron stated, pacing back and forth in front of the locked door to Harry's bedroom.
"Ron, there is nothing we can do," Hermione stated, matter-of-factly. "She thinks he needs his rest, so she's locked us out. There's nothing we can do about that."
"Well, we have to try," Ron emphasised, hoping to persuade Hermione. A long pause ensued as Ron continued to pace as Hermione sat watching him. "Do you think we'd get in trouble if we did magic outside of school?" Ron asked casually, his pacing halting for a moment.
"Ronald Weasley," Hermione began, her tone strong and forceful, her eyes threatening, "don't you dare." When Ron just shook his head and turned his attention back to pacing, Hermione was satisfied that, at least for now, she'd stopped him.
She watched him pace back and forth in front of that door and felt a small smile creep across his face. He looked so passionate, so determined and it was that loyalty to his friends that she loved about him. Well, it was one of the reasons she fancied him anyway.
"Dear, dear brother, what has your knickers in a knot?" Fred, or George, said as he sauntered down the hallway towards them.
"Yeah, what's wrong little Ron-I-Kins," George, or possibly Fred, mocked, squeezing his younger brother's cheeks condescendingly.
"Ged offa me," Ron mumbled, flailing his arms towards his older brother and trying to force him away. Unfortunately, George or Fred, whichever it was, held firmly onto Ron's cheek and Ron merely succeeded in causing himself more pain.
"He's trying to get into Harry's room," Hermione said, saving Ron, "Mrs. Weasley locked it."
"Oh, well little brother, why didn't you say so," Fred said, messing up Ron's hair as he did so.
"Yeah, unlike you, some of us can perform magic outside of school."
With that, the Weasley twins aimed their wands at the door and together yelled, "Alohomora." The combined force of their magic not only unlocked the door, but also set the door swinging into the room on it's hinges, opened wide for everyone to enter through.
Fred and George stood triumphantly at the door, with Ron standing beside them rubbing his cheek. In one minute they were still, and then the flood of people streamed into the room.
Harry rolled over in his bed and faced the door, looking at the familiar faces that seemed like old memories. He hadn't seen any of his friends for so long, and so much had happened since, that they seemed so different, almost unrecognisable.
Fred and George both seemed to have grown at exactly the same rate so that it was still impossible to tell the two of them apart. Although he didn't see too many physical differences he noticed something very out of place about them. They weren't the prankster boys Harry had known at Hogwarts. No, these were men, immersed in life, well aware of its hardships and its blessings.
Ron still looked like Ron, mostly, except that he'd bulked up. He was wider now, with broader shoulders, and had grown throughout the summer so that he now would've been one of the tallest in their grade, Harry assumed. Ron's face had also matured, and he noticed his features had become far more defined. His freckles had started to fade slightly, too, which seemed odd – although his red hair was still as flaming as ever. Somewhere this summer Ron had gone from a cute, naïve boy to hot.
Hermione, however, was the most shocking. All right, so it wasn't like he'd never noticed her body before, it was just that it was never her most predominant feature. Now, well, it still wasn't her most predominant feature but it was far more striking than it had been. She still wasn't exactly a Veela, but she had un-bushified her hair and she had really grown into her body. She had been a bit awkward the previous year, still getting used to the idea of an adult body, but now she seemed taken to it and used to it. Harry even suspected why she may have wanted to flaunt her looks and that made him smile.
"Harry?" Hermione ventured. She broke the silence that had taken over the room. All it took was that little crack and the surreal noiselessness of the room was shattered. Immediately Harry was flooded with questions concerning everything from his opinions on the latest Quidditch outcome, so the current state of his health. Harry was overwhelmed.
"Stop," he finally blurted out, softly yet sternly. "Just, stop." The four paused in anticipation, waiting for him to answer all their questions, despite the sheer number.
"Can I eat first? I'm starved," was what he said instead.
-:-O-:-
Harry didn't eat a great deal during breakfast and he didn't talk much either. He just sat there, swirling his egg around on his plate, smothering everything in the runny yolk fluid turning it a lovely yellow colour. His friends talked cheerfully around him and he resented that, the fact that they could be so fallacious.
Although he wasn't looking anywhere beyond his plate, his could sense the concern. He could tell from the way they kept shooting questions at him, which he would only answer with incoherent grunts, that they were trying to distract him. He could almost see the looks of concern they were exchanging, it was that obvious. He just continued to swirl his eggs and his sausages (which he'd mashed into a pulp) into a lovely substance that had an awful resemblance to vomit.
"Come on Harry, you really should eat something," Hermione coaxed, concern dripping through her voice like poison. Harry could feel them all watching him and he looked up into a room full of eyes looking sensitively at his condition. He glared at Hermione and rose from the table, sending his fork bouncing across the table with a loud clatter.
"I don't need your fucking pity." Even Mrs Weasley was too shocked to comment on his language. His voice was soft and low-pitched and delivered with icy-venom. "And stop looking at me like I'm some fucking alien."
With that, Harry stormed out of the room.
-:-O-:-
The next few weeks passed in a distorted haze. Days overlapped into other days, and Harry felt like a snail in a world of bullets. The Weasley house was filled with bustle and activity and joy and mirth. Harry felt none of this. Harry felt desolate, alone and confused.
For the first few days after he arrived, Harry was locked up tight. He wouldn't talk to anyone, he would barely eat and he disappeared a lot. No one was ever exactly sure where or for how long he'd be gone, but every attempt to find him in these times failed. Although the Weasley's were poor, their house was situated on a surprisingly large expanse of ground.
With time, Harry began to soften and open up. He began to eat and his mysterious disappearances became fewer and farther between. He even began to talk to people, although when the subject went deeper than idle talk he cowered and excused himself from conversation and, once again, retreat to his room or the grounds.
Hermione was worried. This just wasn't Harry. Harry was energetic and full of life and vitality. He loved life and usually basked in happiness and joy, even in the gloomiest of times. Nowadays, however, Harry seemed more like an empty shell, drained of life, almost like a victim the Dementors had kissed.
She currently sat in the lounge, her legs splayed over the couch beside her. She was leaning on her arm, which sat on the couch's arm, and staring into fireplace that was currently devoid of life, just like her Harry.
"Something the matter?" Ron said, plonking himself down on the couch beside her and interrupting her thoughts.
"Hm? Oh, nothing," Hermione answered. "Just worried about Harry."
"Oh, me too," Ron replied, his gaze also turning to the nonexistent fire.
"What do you think has happened to him, Ron?" Desperation was evident in her voice, although her voice and her mood still remained fairly calm.
"I'm sure he's just taken the loss of Sirius hard," he said, gulping as he said Sirius's name.
"Yeah, I'm sure you're right, Ron. I just can't shake the feeling that there's something more, though, you know?" Hermione's head turned abruptly towards Ron as she asked her question and he just nodded in reply. They both shared a small, knowing smile and turned back to the empty fireplace.
-:-O-:-
"Diagon Alley."
The green flames leapt around her feet and in an instant she was gone.
"OK, Harry, you're next."
Harry thought it was amazing how fast his time at The Burrow had gone. It seemed not long ago that he had escaped the hellhole that was 4 Privet Drive and had come to The Burrow, and now he had received his Hogwarts letter and journeying to Diagon Alley to get his school supplies.
Stepping up to the fireplace he took a handful of glittering powder from the flowerpot Mrs Weasley was holding. Raising his hand high he threw the powder forcibly onto the grate.
"Diagon Alley," he stated clearly as he stepped into the fire. Immediately he felt the familiar tug of the Floo Network and he was off, shooting between the fireplaces at break-neck speeds. Soon he felt himself jerk to the left and was sent flying out of a fireplace. Still unaccustomed to Flooing, he landed on his hands and knees.
"C'mon," Ron said, picking Harry up off the floor, "get up!"
It wasn't long before the rest of the Weasley clan were standing around the fireplace as well, and they headed off to do their shopping. Harry followed the family at an unnecessary distance, keeping his gaze firmly planted on the pavement immediately in front of him. He knew that his friends would be worried with his anti-social behaviour, especially considering that Harry normally relished his visits to Diagon Alley, but that didn't concern him.
As they entered Gringotts, Harry slipped away from the group and found a small insignificant looking goblin. Handing over his key, Harry went down to his vault alone – save for the goblin, of course.
As Harry's vault came in to view and Harry saw the gold numbers scratched into the doorway, Harry's face fell further, if that was possible. As the goblin opened the door to him, Harry had to shut his eyes to avoid looking at the money piles for as long as he could. Where once they symbolised freedom and escape to him, now they just remind him of what he had had to loose to get it.
He quickly took some money out of the vault and returned, with the goblin, above ground.
By this time, Harry had absolutely no idea where Hermione or the Weasleys were, however he knew they would find him. Mrs Weasley would even resort to violence if she had to, something that was quite a rare event. That fact made him feel loved and smothered all at the same time. He cared about his friends, but sometimes he just wanted some space. They all showered him with attention and, although not the same attention that the rest of the world gave him, it was still attention. Harry had never liked attention.
He decided to buy his books first, as they were obviously the most important things. Although he had a few to get, they wouldn't be too heavy, he hoped, and at least then he knew how much he could spend elsewhere. As he entered Flourish & Blotts he took out the sheet of paper that had been crammed in his pocket and went about selecting the books that he required.
He quickly found Standard Book of Spells: Grade IV and collected it. As he began moving beyond that, he found the books harder to find. Normally his school texts were displayed prominently, whereas now, it seemed, they weren't. There also seemed quite a few more books than normal, although Harry wouldn't have been surprised if it was just his imagination.
Soon he was heading up to the counter with his pile of books, paid and left.
His journeyed continued to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions where he bought a few new school robes to replace some that were getting either too small or too tatty. After he exited there he breathed out long and deeply, knowing that he now had the rest of the day free.
He decided to head to Eeylops Owl Emporium to buy Hedwig a few special treats. Hedwig was the best owl Harry had ever come across and he liked to spoil her, almost like a grandfather spoiling his grandchild. He didn't mind what people thought, Hedwig was a good companion to him. Plus, she had the bonus of not worrying about him endlessly.
After that, he decided on a trip to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. Florean recognised him immediately, and gave him a little more ice cream than perhaps was considered passable for what he paid for – Harry having refused to not pay at all.
As Harry sat at a small table outside the shop and surveyed the scene. Diagon Alley seemed a little more empty than usual in Harry's opinion, however he dismissed the thought as fancy.
Harry sighed as he saw a first year press his face up against the glass of a shop window, gapping in awe at the broomstick that hovered there, magically suspended in the air. He reminded Harry of himself, a younger self, back when he was young and excited and naïve. He had so much to live for then. He had had his whole life ahead of him. Now, he had just a few years.
He heard a purposeful cough behind him, which broke him from his reverie, and he turned to see his Headmaster standing over him. Harry smiled, but Dumbledore's face muscles didn't move from their vacant expression. Harry's face began to frown and he was about to question him when he heard the unique cry of Molly Weasley.
"Harry! Oh, we were so worried. You can't just go wandering off like that. We were so worried. I even called Albus in I was worried so much. What, with the Dark Lord back and…" Molly was fussing over him as she said it, making sure he was unharmed.
"Harry," Dumbledore interjected, his voice sterner than usual, "you must be more careful."
"But Professor, I'm in a public place," Harry answered, still confused, "why would Voldemort attack…"
"Harry," Dumbledore interrupted, sitting beside the Gryffindor, "Voldemort has returned to power now, and he is no longer in hiding. He is quite free to attack whom-so-ever he wishes, and publicly if he so wishes that, too. I implore you to be more careful."
Harry was stunned. Sure, he had realised that with the Ministry recognising Voldemort's return the information would become public knowledge, and, in fact, he had even read things about it in the Daily Prophet. However, he just hadn't thought what that would mean for him. There were other more important things connected to that night that that wasn't something he had thought about.
"Yes," he answered meekly, nodding. Dumbledore seemed satisfied, for he stood, said his goodbyes and disappeared with a loud crack. A long silence followed his departure as Harry sat, wallowing in his guilt, and the others just looked around silently at each other.
"Come on," Mr Weasley said after a while, "let's go to the twin's shop; cheer everyone up."
Harry perked up slightly at this. He had heard things from Fred and George about their joke shop and was actually interested in seeing what they were doing with themselves.
As they wandered along Diagon Alley towards Fred and George's shop, Harry realised that there actually were less people in Diagon Alley, and it wasn't just his imagination. Voldemort's return was having an effect, fear was creeping back into people's lives and Harry felt a great weight fall on his shoulders at this thought. He was the only one who could put an end to that.
"Did you get your school books, Harry?" Hermione asked him casually. Harry mumbled a reply that would pass as a "yes". He wasn't looking, but he knew the concerned look she gave Ron; it was committed to memory he had seen it so many times.
"Good," Hermione continued, her voice not betraying her concern, "I hoped you wouldn't have as much trouble as Ron; what with all of those Defence books that are cramming the shelves now."
"Hey!" Harry heard Ron's belated protest at the joke Hermione had made at his expense. He decided to ignore it.
"Defence books?" Harry asked, interest creeping into his voice. Hermione heard it, and she took the opportunity.
"Filled with protection spells against You Know Who and all that."
"Oh." His tone dropped back to disinterest.
"Some of them aren't half bad, actually," Hermione persisted. "Actually contain spells that work." She paused when Harry grumbled something. Her tone softened as she said, "I bought you some, Harry, if you want them."
Hermione got the reaction she was after, which wasn't much, but it was still a reaction. With Harry in the state he was, anything that held more than a pinprick of emotion was a good sign.
"Oh, Hermione, you really didn…"
"It's OK," Hermione cut in, "they're decent books and I know you like the subject."
"She just wants to make you read, man," Ron said loudly from beside her, licking an ice cream, which Harry didn't know he had had or where he had gotten it.
"Now, Ronald, I did not say that," Hermione said, a slight bashfulness was shown in her voice and, Harry noticed, in her eyes.
All conversations (or arguments) were ended when Mrs Weasley's voice was heard, announcing that they had arrived at her twin sons' shop.
-:-O-:-
Harry sat on the Hogwarts Express, staring blankly out of the window. He saw the countryside fly past at amazing speed as he ran his hand through Hermione's hair again. He was content in this moment, in some strange way. The peace, the quiet, the solitude. He just wished this quiet limbo would last forever.
It didn't.
The sound of rusty wheels turning came from outside the door. He heard them come to a halt, and the sound of the locked door sliding open like only the sweets woman could make it do. Harry knew that once he flicked the lock on the door, the Hogwarts Express wouldn't allow the door to open to anyone except her. They had been lucky to get one of these private compartments right up the front.
"Would you like anything dear?" she asked softly, obviously noticing his sleeping companions.
"No thanks," he said, showing her the small assortment of sweets that he already had with him from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. She nodded, and went back to moving up the train, the door sliding and locking itself behind her.
He had liked the Weasley's shop, it had been so interesting and busy and full of life. Not to mention the hundreds of different products that Harry had wanted to try. Everything from sweets that made you vomit or filled your stomach or lasted for days and tasted different every hour to prank sets that Harry was sure to cause even the sanest, calmest, most composed person to loose it. Perhaps the Weasley twins had done something impossible: found a way to make Dumbledore loose his temper.
But then a memory flashed before his eyes, and he knew that such a thing wasn't impossible.
That flare of anger on Dumbledore's face, the hatred written across Voldemort's, the taunting sneer of Bellatrix Lestrange and Sirius falling through the veil…
Sirius…
Harry bit his lip and his head dropped. He decided he had to think of something else. He turned his attention back to Hermione who lay collapsed in his lap. A small, fleeting smile swept across his face as he remembered the face Ron had pulled when he saw it, but it was soon gone. Ron now sat asleep across from him, too.
They had had a late night last night, when the gnomes in the garden had somehow gotten in to the house and run around leaving havoc in their wake. By the time they had finally gotten the gnomes out, rather late at night, the ghoul had been awakened. The ghoul at Ron's, unfortunately, believed that if they couldn't sleep then no one would. Consequently, everyone had been up all night listening to loud noises originating in the attic.
Everyone had been up most of the night, and Mrs Weasley had decided they should leave for the Hogwarts Express early so that they could all get a secure cabin to sleep in.
So, here Harry was; sitting on a seat with Hermione sprawled along the rest of it with her head on his lap, Ron sleeping upright across from him, and Ginny curled in a ball on the floor. Harry was the only one who wasn't asleep, but he wouldn't sleep. He could sleep when he was behind the curtains of his bed, which he'd expertly silenced. Not before. They had all done enough fussing.
Harry looked out of the window and saw the giant Hogwarts castle come in to view. It was spectacular; the sight of it always took his breath away. It was a magnificent, tall building that stood in the midst of beautiful countryside. Harry couldn't wait to explore it all. He had found some sort of solace in nature during his time at the Weasley's; the quiet beauty of the forest, the slow trickling sound of water, it all made him believe that there had to be something more. That gave Harry comfort.
He roused his friends from their slumber, gently shaking them awake one by one.
"We're here," he told them all softly in their ear. Within five minutes they were all fairly alert, collecting their things and were unlocking the compartment door. They headed off down the train's corridor and were soon assaulted by a group of three first year girls. Or rather, Harry was soon assaulted by a group of three first year girls.
"Oh my God," one of them squealed, "it's him, it's Harry Potter!" Her friends just gaped at him and stared, as did their friend, all of them too awestruck to say a word.
Harry sighed. So it had begun. His sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He just hoped it would be better than his last.
-:-O-:-
Author's Note: Long, yes? I think I like nice long chapters. Sorry about how long this took to come out. Yes, I know. I was going to put it up on the 1st of January, then the 21st and I just couldn't get it to finish. I've been busy, yes, but I've been meaning to be writing this more. It just didn't want to be written at the times I could write. It's out now. Hopefully the later chapters will flow a little easier and I can update sooner. Hope the fact that the chapters are long can comfort you.
Will you review for me, please?
Now, I am nit-picky. Anything at all you want to raise, raise it. From petty grammar errors (I sort of have my own ideas when it comes to grammar and sometimes it just isn't right) to the fact that a character was, I don't know, supposed to be missing a leg. Anything at all. I want it to fit with cannon (from the first five books, anyway) as much as possible.
Oh, lastly, please review. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. I really want to know what you think – better, worse, brilliant, crap. Anything. Just don't yell at me for the story being to mature, or the gay themes. It's rated "M", what did you expect? And I don't want some sexualist, homophobic rant. I won't even waste my time reading it.
Did I ask you to please review? puppy dog eyes
Wow, that was a long Author's Note. Not normally that long, I assure you. I guess I just had a lot to say.