Title: Harry Potter and the Halls of Sceleris
Author: Cerridwen
Rating: PG-13
Summary: When Harry Potter returns to Hogwarts for his sixth year, he finds things in more of a disarray than usual. Draco's acting more oddly than ever, Ron's in love with Hermione and Voldemort has hatched a plan, an infallible plan to lay hands on The Boy Who Lived once and for all.
Author's Notes: Will contain slash of the Draco/Harry nature. Don't like it, don't bother reading because once it starts its going to continue on. Also, thanks to my dear Tonia for the beta, and I hope this works! My first real attempt at HP fic, so I'm rather nervous. *crosses fingers*
Disclaimer: Well, I don't own them, but I am the one they come running to when Mummy Rowling says "no".
The moon hung low over Ottery St. Catchpole, clouds sailing across her silver face like so many ghostly ships. The few faint rays that did find there way down onto the sleeping world below illuminated two people, a man and a younger boy, both with hair the colour of a dying sun and more freckles than could be counted. The older of the two was revelling the raptly listening younger boy with a daring tale set in the deeps of some long forgotten Egyptian pyramid.
"Spikes a foot long and razor-sharp that actually chased us through the corridors! My partner, Michael tried Finite Incantatem , and Confuto on them but nothing seemed to work. Those old blokes really new their stuff; I've got a nasty scar where one grazed me, just here, see?" He brandished his elbow for inspection, receiving an admiring look from his brother.
"What did you do, then?" Came the query with a look of almost desperate suspense.
"We finally had to duck into a chamber off the corridor. Stuck there for three days, nearly. Every time we tried to open the door they were after us again. Completely mad, Ron. And Michael spent the entire time telling me about some chap called Indiana… Indian- Well, I can't remember the last name. Said he felt like him, he did, though. Must be some Muggle fellow." Bill Weasley rolled his eyes and stared heavenward.
"Well, come on. Who finally got you out?" Ron asked impatiently.
"Oh! Well, no one, really. We finally tried to open the door and they were gone. Went on and found the treasure- must've been nearly two million galleons worth in there. On our way out we saw a few Muggle excavators, skewered by the same spikes that had been after us. Sent a letter back to the Egyptian Muggle Relations head and he contacted their people and had them picked up." Bill shuddered. "Horrible, that was. Never want to see anything like that again. Couldn't even make out their faces, they were so pulped up."
Ron gave an appreciative, "Eurgh," as he continued to stroll idly, kicking an errant stone before him. They walked in silence for a moment before he looked up again. "D'you reckon Percy's calmed down at all?"
Bill and the Death Eater went for their wands at the same time, the former giving Ron a shove and urging him to, "Get back to the house! Now!"
Stumbling over his own shock numb feet, Ron turned and dashed off, dodging curses sent in his direction by the Death Eater. Another popping noise indicated the arrival of another Death Eater and Ron felt strong hands grabbing him from behind, pulling him towards a clump of bushes. He cast about for his brother, as the Death Eater holding him reached for a broomstick concealed in the bushes at their feet, and saw him standing above the other assailant whom he had stunned.
"Bill! Bill, he-mmmph!" A thick, sweaty palm cut off his cries but Bill had heard. He looked up and after a moment's pause raised his wand again. Ron felt the Death Eater scrabbling for his own wand, but before he'd managed Bill had cried, " Stupefy !" and Ron's mind went blank.
He woke up a minute later, to the sight of Bill's worried face hovering over him. "Are you all right? Did he hurt you?" Bill extended a hand to help him to his feet, and Ron caught sight of the second Death Eater, lying motionless on the ground.
"I'm fine." Ron rubbed a sore spot at the back of his head and looked ruefully up at his brother. "Why'd you stun me too?"
"Couldn't get a clear shot at the Death Eater." Bill shrugged. "It was both or neither of you." He cast a nervous glance at the two stunned Death Eaters. "C'mon. Let's get back to the Burrow and tell Mum and Dad what happened. Dad can get in touch with the Ministry and have these two picked up."
Ron didn't notice the worried glance his brother gave them as he started walking.
"What do you think they wanted with us?" He wondered aloud, with a puzzled look for Bill. He knew, though, without asking. He wasn't completely oblivious to the dangers of being close to Harry Potter, after all.
"Do you really have to ask that, Ron?"
"No, I s'pose not." Ron furrowed his brow. "D'you reckon Harry's in danger, then? Should we write him?"
Bill shook his head. "I don't think so. We'll see what Dad thinks, of course. But with all that lad's got on his mind already, I don't really reckon we should do. I'm sure Dad can have the Ministry looking after him."
"But Fudge doesn't believe that You-know-who's come back, Bill!"
Bill looked pensive at this, but didn't say anything as he pushed the door to the Burrow open and stepped over the threshold. He winced at his mother's startled gasp, realising what they must look like. A nasty cut on his own cheek, the result of a badly aimed Slashing Curse and Ron dirty and mussed, still pale and shaken.
"Bill! Ron, good gods, what happened to you two?" Molly Weasley crossed the room in a few quick strides and inspected the cut on Bill's cheek.
"Death Eaters," said Bill, grimly. "Ambushed us in the village. I stunned them both; reckoned you could contact the Ministry and have them picked up, Dad."
Arthur Weasley, looking slightly white-faced, nodded. "Did you see who they were, Bill?"
"Ah," Bill looked abashed. "I didn't even think on it, Dad. I just wanted to get Ron back here before more of them came."
"Mum, geroff!" Ron batted at his mother's hands as she searched him for injuries. "He didn't hurt me, really."
"I'm just checking, dear. The adrenaline can numb pain, you know." Mrs. Weasley said, voice shaking slightly, as she stood on tiptoe to rake her fingers through her son's hair, searching for bloody gashes and lumps.
"Mum, I'm fine, I promise. I tell you, I'd notice if my head had split open, adrenaline or not!" He pushed Mrs. Weasley's hands away with a huffy expression on his face.
Ginny, Fred, George and Percy joined them in the kitchen for a cup of strong tea as Bill and Ron recounted the tale in further detail. Percy's hair, Ron noticed, was still a violent shade of green. Mrs. Weasley looked faint when she heard that one of the Death Eaters had actually laid hands on Ron.
"If you hadn't been there, Bill!" She said feebly to Bill as the story ended.
Ron huffed again. "I can take care of myself you kno-" He started, interrupted by his father re-entering the kitchen.
"They're sending MacNair and Watkins out after the Death Eaters," He said sitting wearily at the scrubbed table. "They'll let us know when they've gotten them."
"MacNair?" Ron looked quizzically at his father. "I thought MacNair worked for The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures!"
"Oh, he did at one point," Mr. Weasley returned sounding quite disapproving. "Fudge moved him over to the MLE's after all that business with the TriWizard Tournament. Wouldn't even hear a word against it, even though Harry specifically named him as one of the Death Eaters at the ritual that night."
Mrs. Weasley looked aghast. "Can't something be done, Arthur? I mean to say, a Death Eater in the MLE's could… could…" She trailed off, seemingly not knowing just what sort of harm one could do, but certain he could do something.
"MLE's?" Ginny asked, speaking for the first time since Ron and Bill had started telling their story.
"Magical Law Enforcement." Mr. Weasley said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Haven't had much to do since You-Know-Who's downfall." He removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. "And no, without proof, Molly, nothing can be done. We first have to prove to Fudge that MacNair is a Death Eater."
The talk was interrupted again by a knock at the door. Ron looked up to see two hooded figures standing there, and his heart gave a frightful lurch. Had the Death Eaters come to claim them all?
Mr. Weasley, however, seemed to have no such fears. He immediately went to the door to let them both in. "Well?"
Ron noticed their shiny badges, MLE glinting silver against a gold background and felt decidedly foolish. No, the Death Eaters wouldn't have knocked on the door. The two wizards pushed back their hoods, and Ron immediately recognised the face of MacNair, more weathered than when he had seen him at Hogwart's for Buckbeak the hippogriff's execution, but immediately recognisable as the same sinister figure. The other was a tall, strong featured wizard, with thinning brown hair and a distracted expression on his face. He shook his head.
"They were gone when we got there." The wizard, Ron assumed he must be Watkins, said. "You-Know-Who must have found out what happened somehow and sent people to retrieve him." No one in the house missed the dark look he passed MacNair when he said this, except, perhaps, MacNair himself who was inspecting the clock above the stove.
A collective groan echoed through the kitchen. The Enforcers took their leave after a quick conversation with Mr. Weasley in the corner while Mrs. Weasley ushered the rest up to bed.
"We've an early day tomorrow," She said to Ron and Ginny. "Loads of washing and packing for school." She gave out goodnight kisses and saw her children up to bed.
Ron saw Ginny off to her room, then paused at the top of the stairwell above the kitchen, listening to the conversation that had started up again.
"I didn't want to say anything in front of Ron, Mum," Bill was saying. "Those Death Eaters didn't even seem to pay any attention to me, even when I tried to stupefy them. They just went after Ron."
He heard a startled exclamation from his mother. "Do you think they'll come back, Arthur?"
There was a pause, and then his father spoke. "I don't know. At least he'll be at school day after tomorrow, though." His father suddenly sounded weary. "Look, why don't we all go up to bed. We do have a long day ahead of us, and I for one am knackered."
Ron darted up to his own room as he heard the chairs being pushed away from the table in the kitchen. He changed quickly into his pyjamas, then lay in the bed staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. So, those Death Eaters had come expressly after him. The thought was somehow more frightening than thinking that they had been after Bill too, at least then he wouldn't have been alone.
He felt instantly ashamed at himself for thinking such things, and rolled onto his stomach trying to still his buzzing mind and sleep. It was nearly an hour later when he finally fell into an uncomfortable slumber.
***
Little Whinging never seemed so blazingly hot until Harry was forced to be outside in it.
They must pick , Harry thought ruefully, spreading warm, smelly manure over the flower beds outside number four, the very hottest days possible for me to do this sort of stuff.
He wasn't sure just how long he'd already been at this today, long enough to mow the lawn and weed until his hands bled; his hair was practically sopping with sweat and his shirt was drenched but no cooling breeze rustled the trees today. Everything was muggy and moist, and the air had the feeling of heavy rains. Harry didn't think he would've minded for a bit to start right now, though the puffy white clouds and burning sun told him that he'd have to wait until tonight for that.
He'd just spread the last of the fertilizer when he heard the sound of the front door opening. He quickly made to look as though he were still working so that they wouldn't rope him into to some other chore.
It was Uncle Vernon who approached him and, when he looked up at him, Harry saw Aunt Petunia leading a pouty looking Dudley to the car.
"See here, boy." Uncle Vernon brought Harry's attention back onto himself and Harry squinted up at him, wishing he'd move just one step to the left so that his bulk would block out the sun blinding Harry. "Petunia and I are taking Dudley to the infirmary. We'll be back this evening and if I find that you've set the house on fire, or whatever… If a single item is out of place I'll make sure your face is unrecognisable when you go back to that ruddy school of yours. Understood?"
Harry tilted his head, thinking that Uncle Vernon could have found a clearer sort of threat to use, but decided not to test him. He's going to make me have plastic surgery—no, he'd have to pay for that... His eye was already twitching with the pure strain of leaving Harry alone at his house for a whole afternoon and Harry thought it best not to test him. So he simply replied with, "Yes sir," and turned back to his work, fighting an insane grin as he heard Uncle Vernon's breathing speed up.
When, at last, he heard his Uncle's retreating footsteps and the sound of the car leaving the drive he got to his feet and watched the Dursley's drive out of view, that insane grin finally winning out and spreading across his entire countenance.
Well this was a pleasant new development. Never before had Harry been allowed to stay in the house by himself. He supposed he could consider it an unwitting late birthday gift, or perhaps an off-to-school farewell gift, but either way here he was, alone in the house with the telly all to himself and the contents of the refrigerator completely at his whim. Quite pleasant, indeed.
He started his day of freedom with a long shower, taking as long as he wished to get rid of the grime of sweat and dirt all over his body; he even used the rich fragrant soap he'd never been allowed previously. He didn't particularly like the smell of it, but the very fact that he wasn't supposed to use it made it appealing. Once he'd finished that, he stepped out of the shower stall feeling refreshed and selected one of the biggest and fluffiest towels to wrap round his waist and made his way over to the mirror above the tap. He noticed, through somewhat blurry eyes as he neglected to don his glasses again, that, with his wet hair lying nicely flat, he looked rather studly. He took a moment to wink exaggeratedly at his reflection, then put his glasses back on. Ah, never mind. Same old dag in ugly, thick specs . He nodded resolutely at his mirror counterpart, then retreated from the bathroom to dress.
He opted for a roomy pair of Dudley's old jogging trousers and a loose t-shirt then trekked down to the kitchen for a late lunch. There he spied, on the worktop, a plate with a few slices of untoasted bread and a note, that caused Harry to scoff, reading Here is your supper. DO NOT touch anything in the cupboards or refrigerator!
Harry weighed his options. He would be leaving tonight on the Knight Bus for London and the Leaky Cauldron so that he could pick up his school supplies quick like before the Weasley's fetched him the next morning on their way to King's Cross station. On the off chance that the Dursley's would notice that the making of one sandwich and a few crisps had disappeared from their kitchen any possible punishment couldn't be too severe.
His stomach won out in the end, choosing that moment to give a disgruntled growl, so Harry trooped over to the refrigerator and selected some cold cuts, a bit of lettuce, and butter and a can of soda. He made himself a sandwich that turned out quite large and tasty looking, which he set on a plate along with a handful of crisps from the bag in the cupboard. He took his meal to the dining room table and sat in Uncle Vernon's spot at the head of the table, eating slowly. Harry decided that he liked his own sandwiches better than anything Aunt Petunia could come up with, and the whole affair was quite satisfying enough to leave him full and content as he washed his plate and the butter knife he'd used, then took his soda into the sitting room where he spent a good ten minutes revelling in the fact that he was in complete control of the television.
As is happened, there wasn't much to choose from, but he was nevertheless delighted to be switching the channels himself, and finally chose an American programme called 'Cheers' that he'd taken a fancy to over at old Mrs. Figg's. He settled himself languidly across the sofa, putting his feet up on it, the way Aunt Petunia always told him not to, to watch. He was just chuckling his way through Sam's proposal to Diane when he first felt the warm fingers of sleep tugging at him. He made quite a job of staying awake, as sleeping would only make the Dursley's return come more quickly, but there wasn't much he could do and at last he surrendered to the warm waves of slumber pulling him under.
He knew from the start that he was dreaming. He had never before seen the cavernous hall he was standing in, with its enormous labyrinthine corridors stretching away on either side of it. Nor had he ever seen the ancient-looking, tarnished, silver chair he was now facing. He did, however, recognise the figure seated there not seeming to have noticed him one jot.
The skeletally thin man, with eyes the colour of hot coals and a hideous flat nose was interrogating two black robed figures spread prostrate on the floor before him.
"How hard is it, Crabbe, Goyle, to overcome a talentless sixteen year old wizard?" He was saying in a voice dripping venom and malice.
"No, my Lord, he had his brother with him, the curse breaker, my Lord. We could have taken him if he hadn't been there," spoke up one of the cowering wizards on the floor, and Harry felt a twinge of panic. Sixteen year old wizard? Curse breaker brother? It sounded remarkably like his best friend Ron.
"And that, I see, is supposed to be a good enough reason for your failure to obey me?"
"No, my Lord. There is no excuse, my Lord."
"Oh, you're quite right about that." The Dark Lord spat, eyes narrowing dangerously. "And now the Weasley filth will be going back to that cursed school in the morning. We have no time to coordinate another attempt at kidnap."
Harry felt faint. Voldemort had tried to kidnap Ron? The relief that he had failed was minimal, that he had tried at all was simply terrifying.
"My Lord," spoke up a short, heavy-set wizard beside Voldemort, sounding frightened to even be doing so. "Perhaps—the boy will be at King's Cross tomorrow. We could make an attempt then, my Lord—"
"Foolish. The boy's father works for the Ministry of Magic. He will no doubt have Ministry bodyguards for his children." Voldemort turned back to Crabbe and Goyle, still on the ground, looking fearfully up at him. He took his wand in hand, fingering it and glaring at them, eyes seeming to spit anger and hell fire. "You do realise that I cannot allow such failure to go unpunished, don't you?"
"No, my Lord, please-"
"Crucio!"
Pain ripped through Harry's forehead as though someone had pressed a burning brand to his scar. He fell to his knees with a strangled cry of pain, barely registering the sight of the writhing Death Eaters on the floor.
"What the bloody blazes are you doing boy?!" Harry felt himself being roughly shaken by a strong, meaty hand, and opened his eyes. His scar still burned painfully, and when he removed his shaking hands from his face he saw a livid Vernon Dursley standing over him. His eyes next fell on the broken remains of the vase scattered over the floor and he blanched. That particular vase was a family heirloom, and he knew personally that his grandmother, Aunt Petunia's mother, had passed it down to her before her death. Oh, of all the things to have broken in the house he had to choose that.
He looked timidly up into his Uncle's face, seeing out of the corner of his eye as Aunt Petunia knelt over the ruined vase with a muffled cry and started gathering up the pieces.
"Uncle Vernon, I-" But he wasn't allowed to finish.
" That has been in Petunia's family for FIVE GENERATIONS !" Uncle Vernon thundered down to the already shaken boy on the floor, nostrils flared, face the colour of an angry tomato.
" Please ! I didn't mean to, I-"
But he was interrupted again as Uncle Vernon hauled him from the floor, his meaty face contorted with rage, and any questions Harry might have had about whether or not Uncle Vernon actually cared for Aunt Petunia feelings were answered as he reared back and backhanded him hard enough to send his glasses flying and Harry, himself, back onto the floor.
For a moment there was nothing but the shocked silence and the sound of Harry's rapid breathing. Vernon Dursley might have been a slimy, bullying, bastard, but he had never hit Harry before. Even Aunt Petunia had stopped her frantic cries and scrabblings for the scattered pieces of her vase to stare from Uncle Vernon to Harry, still sprawled on the floor with a hand pressed to his cheek, in absolute shock. Even Dudley, who had beaten Harry up plenty of times didn't seem to know what to do.
It was Uncle Vernon who finally broke the silence, obviously attempting to look as though he had not only planned to hit Harry, but that he would do it again in a heartbeat. "There now, boy," He snarled, "Get yourself back up to your room, this instant unless you want more." He narrowed his eyes dangerously at Harry, who stared at him for a moment, before jumping to his feet and thundering up the stairs to his bedroom.
Once he had given the door a good hearty slam he went over to his wardrobe and yanked the door open, studying his reflection. He could already see the beginnings of a bruise on his cheek, the deeper red of knuckles standing out quite clearly, and on his forehead his scar still burned a livid red. Harry blinked back tears of pain, then spun on his heel and grabbed up his trunk and Hedwig's cage. He was going to leave right this minute. He'd planned to wait until sundown, but found that he didn't really care a jot about that anymore. He was going to go immediately, and Uncle Vernon could rot. He lugged the heavy trunk down the stairs, delighting in the loud thumps it made on each step, not bothering to hush Hedwig's disgruntled squawkings and made straight for the front door. He didn't even pause when he heard Uncle Vernon's angry shout of, "Where the bloody hell d'you think you're going, Potter?!"
Instead, Harry pulled his trunk right up to the curb, opened it, extracted his wand and held it up: the signal for the Knight Bus. Once the violent purple, triple decker bus appeared he stepped right aboard, paying no heed to Stan Shunpike's attempts at speech and collapsed onto one of the empty beds.
"Diagon Alley, please."