Disclaimer: Don't own anything. Am annoyed at that. Wish I could write my
own wizarding fic and make money. Damn.
A/n: This is like a trial run of this fic before I post elsewhere. Seeing how to improve it etc, so this version my change!
Thanks to: Carla (Harry's Lost Twin coughtwincestcough) and Cart (Tishelle), my parternaires extraordinaries in ficcing crime. Love ya. Oh and thankies to people who make sites that translate Latin into English. And thanks to all my reviewers. And thanks if you review. The fic will begin after the beep. .......BEEP!
Harry Potter was sitting at his desk, frantically glueing a mirror back together. To anyone else, it would look like a strange idea – but to Harry Potter, this mirror meant a lot more than what the eye could see at first. Harry held another sticky piece into place, almost cutting himself on the sharp edge and cursed himself again. Why hadn't he thought to use the mirror to check if Sirius was alive and well at Grimmauld Place? Hermione's voice echoed in his mind.
"Always acting the hero..." Harry scowled. He knew he should have listened to her. When had Hermione ever been wrong? He trusted her with his own life. The piece was beginning to hold, so Harry let go. His eyes were itching with tiredness – he knew if he didn't go to bed soon he'd fall asleep were he was, and he doubted that this would be very comfortable.
He got up, checked the heavens for any sign of his snowy owl Hedwig, and closed the curtains resolutely. He changed and climbed into his small bed. The Dursleys, Harry's insufferable relatives, had all been in bed three hours ago. Harry removed his glasses and rolled onto his side. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Sirius was laughing, dodging the spell Bellatrix had just thrown at him. "Come on, you can do better than that!" he taunted her. So she did. The shock didn't even register on his face until he began to fall, in a swooping graceful arc. Bellatrix looked on breathlessly, some kind of twisted malevolence on her face. Harry couldn't move, his legs had become separate from his brain; it was all he could do to watch as his godfather descended in that elegant arc through the room.
Sirius fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell...
In one movement, graceful to the end, he plunged through the Veil.
He did not come out of the other side.
"Sirius!" Harry screamed. "SIRIUS!"
Harry woke with a jolt, covered in cold sweat. He realised he had been screaming in his sleep when he heard Uncle Vernon shout. "Keep your bloody voice down boy!"
Harry grabbed a handful of the duvet and shoved it into his mouth. He then let him self scream – the cry being smothered by the duvet – for as long and as hard as he needed to. When he stopped, he found that his throat was raw and aching.
Then he realised that not all the dampness on his face was sweat.
Swearing quietly under his breath, he wiped his eyes and crawled out of the bed. He tiptoed down the stairs and into the Muggle kitchen, where he preceded to pour himself a large glass of cold water. He gulped it down until the glass was empty, which took a surprisingly short time. He poured himself another and drained that too. He dumped the glass into the dishwasher and made his way back up the stairs.
He got back into bed.
He didn't sleep again that night.
"Boy!" yelled Uncle Vernon the next morning. "Your Aunt wants you!" Harry sighed and got out of bed. He was very tired. Yawning, he walked over to the window sill to check for any sign of Hedwig, but there was none. He got dressed slowly and sauntered down the stairs.
"Where have you been?" barked Petunia, as he finally entered the kitchen. "Get over here and cook the bacon for Dudders and for goodness sake do something about that hair!"
Harry completely ignored the last comment as it was completely useless – the hair he had inherited from his father completely defied the laws of gravity. Instead he morosely began to fry bacon in a kind of stupor. The television that Dudley had received as a welcome home present three years ago chuntered away in the background. He tried to think about anything than the dream he'd had. He forced himself to think of Hedwig bringing him a letter. Then he remembered all the letters he'd had from Sirius. He was just trying to think of something not related to his godfather when the sound of a Muggle news reporter's voice caught his attention.
"A terrible tragedy struck Greater Whinging, Surrey last night. Sixteen people were killed and several others injured in a multi vehicular crash and a major gas explosion within minutes of each other. It is not known whether the two events were connected." Harry froze, staring at the screen in complete shock as pictures of the horrific incident flashed onto the screen, screaming Muggles, the ruined cars, the sight of the street that looked as if a giant had pulled up the middle in one fatal swoop as if rolling up a carpet.
"Ruddy awful," tutted Uncle Vernon. "Crash could've been helped, I suppose, but the gas explosion will need an inquiry. I'm betting a fault in the system." Harry turned to his uncle.
"That was no gas explosion." Harry's voice was shaking with suppressed rage.
"What on earth are you talking about, boy?" roared Uncle Vernon, whose toast was fast disappearing in a sea of marmalade. "I'm talking about Voldemort. The death of innocent Muggles. History repeating itself," said Harry quietly, abandoning the bacon. "That's what I'm talking about!"
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia exchanged significant looks while Dudley looked on, horrified. Uncle Vernon's face seemed to be turning an interesting shade of puce, while his eyes started to bulge and the rest of his body to swell indignantly. Aunt Petunia, on the other hand, went very white and pinched her lips so tightly together that they disappeared. Dudley was watching all the occupants of the room – his little, piggy eyes flickering between his parents and Harry as if he were watching a tennis rally.
"Voldie-thingy? Back?" Uncle Vernon laughed a would-be doubtful laugh. "He's long gone; it's just an accident boy – why must you assume everything is to do with your lot?"
"That's because it is!" yelled Harry. "He's killed innocent Mug- people before, he can do it again!" "THIS WILL HAVE A PERFECTLY REASONABLE EXPLANATION!" roared Uncle Vernon. "JUST YOU WAIT-"
"WAIT UNTIL WHAT?" screamed Harry. "WAIT UNTIL I'VE SEEN MY MUGGLEBORN BEST FRIEND DIE? WAIT UNTIL IT'S TOO LATE? I'VE GOT TO DO SOMETHING BECAUSE IT'S ALL UP TO ME!" Harry felt so angry – why wouldn't they listen? His ears were ringing and his hands had balled up into fists. "HOW COME EVERYTHING HAS SOMETHING TO DO WITH YOU? WHAT MAKES YOU SO SPECIAL, POTTER?" "THIS!" Harry indicated his scar. "THIS MAKES ME DIFFERENT FROM ALL OF YOU! THIS MEANS I'M THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN SAVE-" "Don't be so self obsessed!" barked Aunt Petunia. "Lily wanted to help people too and look what happened to her!"
A nasty silence hung in the air. Harry had never heard his aunt call his mother by her first name before. "Well at least she tried," said Harry. "She might have dies but at least she tried! And it worked, didn't it? Because here I am." "And it's because of you that my own sister – my own flesh and blood-"
"I'M YOUR FLESH AND BLOOD!" Harry was dimly aware that a glass on the side had smashed. Uncle Vernon jumped and Dudley let out a squeal of terror, but Aunt Petunia – who was as worked up as Harry – hardly noticed. "ONLY BY HALF!" Aunt Petunia screeched. "YOU'LL NEVER REPLACE LILY, NEVER!" "WELL IF I'LL NEVER REPLACE HER I MIGHT AS WELL NOT BE HERE!" cried Harry. Uncle Vernon looked ecstatic. Another glass smashed. "Sorry," said Harry, regretting saying it. "You damn well should be, proposing all sorts of nonsense – "
"I meant sorry about the glass. What I said was TRUE!" Again silence descended. "Go if you want," said Aunt Petunia, controlling her temper. "You've stayed here long enough for this year. Get out. Go and find some freaks to take you in for the summer." With that, she stormed out of the room. Harry strode out after her and ran into his room. He began to throw everything haphazardly into his trunk, seething with fury. He didn't even notice what he was packing – he was so angry at the Dursley's. He picked up the photo album that held the only pictures he had of his parents.
The only pictures he had of...
He threw the book into his trunk and hurled a pile of socks on top of it.
He finished packing and shoved a few Owl Treats through the bars of Hedwig's cage angrily. She hooted at him reproachfully. "Oh don't you start," he snapped. "I'm sorry Hedwig," he sighed, stroking her with a finger. "I've got a lot on my plate." He slammed the lid of his trunk shut, picked up Hedwig and her cage and threw himself as fast as he could down the stairs and out of the house, slamming the door, and walked away without a backward glance.
Harry walked down Privet Drive, randomly kicking walls as he went past. Hedwig squawked her disapproval at this; he kept rattling her cage as he did so. Deciding that this was getting him nowhere, he dragged his trunk into a side street that was usually deserted and flung out his wand arm.
"'Ello and welcome to the Knight Bus, your friendly travel service for the stranded witch or wizard. 'Ow may I 'elp you sir – Neville!" Stan Shunpike, conductor of the large purple triple decker Knight Bus, who had leapt out as soon as it arrived, began to pump Harry's arm up and down enthusiastically. "Long time, no see mate! Where you goin' tonight then?"
"Gri – London," Harry sad, realising at the last moment. "London's a big place Nev," said Stan. "Where abouts in London?" Harry desperately tried to think of a place near Grimmauld place – the only one he could remember was Kings Cross. That wasn't too far away. "King's Cross," he said, handing Hedwig's cage to Stan as he dragged his trunk aboard. Stan led him to the nearest bed.
"Eleven Sickles," he said, holding out a hand. "'Less you want 'ot chocolate – that's firteen. Fifteen for a toofbrush." Harry gave him the silver and climbed onto the bed. "Nice trip," said Stan and clapped Harry on the shoulder.
Harry didn't even try and get any sleep – he felt as though is nerves were on fire. He tried looking at the scenery from the window but the violent action of the bus soon made him feel ill. He contented for lying back on his bed and imagining the look on the Orders face when they realised he had arrived without a guard.
A/n: This is like a trial run of this fic before I post elsewhere. Seeing how to improve it etc, so this version my change!
Thanks to: Carla (Harry's Lost Twin coughtwincestcough) and Cart (Tishelle), my parternaires extraordinaries in ficcing crime. Love ya. Oh and thankies to people who make sites that translate Latin into English. And thanks to all my reviewers. And thanks if you review. The fic will begin after the beep. .......BEEP!
Harry Potter was sitting at his desk, frantically glueing a mirror back together. To anyone else, it would look like a strange idea – but to Harry Potter, this mirror meant a lot more than what the eye could see at first. Harry held another sticky piece into place, almost cutting himself on the sharp edge and cursed himself again. Why hadn't he thought to use the mirror to check if Sirius was alive and well at Grimmauld Place? Hermione's voice echoed in his mind.
"Always acting the hero..." Harry scowled. He knew he should have listened to her. When had Hermione ever been wrong? He trusted her with his own life. The piece was beginning to hold, so Harry let go. His eyes were itching with tiredness – he knew if he didn't go to bed soon he'd fall asleep were he was, and he doubted that this would be very comfortable.
He got up, checked the heavens for any sign of his snowy owl Hedwig, and closed the curtains resolutely. He changed and climbed into his small bed. The Dursleys, Harry's insufferable relatives, had all been in bed three hours ago. Harry removed his glasses and rolled onto his side. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Sirius was laughing, dodging the spell Bellatrix had just thrown at him. "Come on, you can do better than that!" he taunted her. So she did. The shock didn't even register on his face until he began to fall, in a swooping graceful arc. Bellatrix looked on breathlessly, some kind of twisted malevolence on her face. Harry couldn't move, his legs had become separate from his brain; it was all he could do to watch as his godfather descended in that elegant arc through the room.
Sirius fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell...
In one movement, graceful to the end, he plunged through the Veil.
He did not come out of the other side.
"Sirius!" Harry screamed. "SIRIUS!"
Harry woke with a jolt, covered in cold sweat. He realised he had been screaming in his sleep when he heard Uncle Vernon shout. "Keep your bloody voice down boy!"
Harry grabbed a handful of the duvet and shoved it into his mouth. He then let him self scream – the cry being smothered by the duvet – for as long and as hard as he needed to. When he stopped, he found that his throat was raw and aching.
Then he realised that not all the dampness on his face was sweat.
Swearing quietly under his breath, he wiped his eyes and crawled out of the bed. He tiptoed down the stairs and into the Muggle kitchen, where he preceded to pour himself a large glass of cold water. He gulped it down until the glass was empty, which took a surprisingly short time. He poured himself another and drained that too. He dumped the glass into the dishwasher and made his way back up the stairs.
He got back into bed.
He didn't sleep again that night.
"Boy!" yelled Uncle Vernon the next morning. "Your Aunt wants you!" Harry sighed and got out of bed. He was very tired. Yawning, he walked over to the window sill to check for any sign of Hedwig, but there was none. He got dressed slowly and sauntered down the stairs.
"Where have you been?" barked Petunia, as he finally entered the kitchen. "Get over here and cook the bacon for Dudders and for goodness sake do something about that hair!"
Harry completely ignored the last comment as it was completely useless – the hair he had inherited from his father completely defied the laws of gravity. Instead he morosely began to fry bacon in a kind of stupor. The television that Dudley had received as a welcome home present three years ago chuntered away in the background. He tried to think about anything than the dream he'd had. He forced himself to think of Hedwig bringing him a letter. Then he remembered all the letters he'd had from Sirius. He was just trying to think of something not related to his godfather when the sound of a Muggle news reporter's voice caught his attention.
"A terrible tragedy struck Greater Whinging, Surrey last night. Sixteen people were killed and several others injured in a multi vehicular crash and a major gas explosion within minutes of each other. It is not known whether the two events were connected." Harry froze, staring at the screen in complete shock as pictures of the horrific incident flashed onto the screen, screaming Muggles, the ruined cars, the sight of the street that looked as if a giant had pulled up the middle in one fatal swoop as if rolling up a carpet.
"Ruddy awful," tutted Uncle Vernon. "Crash could've been helped, I suppose, but the gas explosion will need an inquiry. I'm betting a fault in the system." Harry turned to his uncle.
"That was no gas explosion." Harry's voice was shaking with suppressed rage.
"What on earth are you talking about, boy?" roared Uncle Vernon, whose toast was fast disappearing in a sea of marmalade. "I'm talking about Voldemort. The death of innocent Muggles. History repeating itself," said Harry quietly, abandoning the bacon. "That's what I'm talking about!"
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia exchanged significant looks while Dudley looked on, horrified. Uncle Vernon's face seemed to be turning an interesting shade of puce, while his eyes started to bulge and the rest of his body to swell indignantly. Aunt Petunia, on the other hand, went very white and pinched her lips so tightly together that they disappeared. Dudley was watching all the occupants of the room – his little, piggy eyes flickering between his parents and Harry as if he were watching a tennis rally.
"Voldie-thingy? Back?" Uncle Vernon laughed a would-be doubtful laugh. "He's long gone; it's just an accident boy – why must you assume everything is to do with your lot?"
"That's because it is!" yelled Harry. "He's killed innocent Mug- people before, he can do it again!" "THIS WILL HAVE A PERFECTLY REASONABLE EXPLANATION!" roared Uncle Vernon. "JUST YOU WAIT-"
"WAIT UNTIL WHAT?" screamed Harry. "WAIT UNTIL I'VE SEEN MY MUGGLEBORN BEST FRIEND DIE? WAIT UNTIL IT'S TOO LATE? I'VE GOT TO DO SOMETHING BECAUSE IT'S ALL UP TO ME!" Harry felt so angry – why wouldn't they listen? His ears were ringing and his hands had balled up into fists. "HOW COME EVERYTHING HAS SOMETHING TO DO WITH YOU? WHAT MAKES YOU SO SPECIAL, POTTER?" "THIS!" Harry indicated his scar. "THIS MAKES ME DIFFERENT FROM ALL OF YOU! THIS MEANS I'M THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN SAVE-" "Don't be so self obsessed!" barked Aunt Petunia. "Lily wanted to help people too and look what happened to her!"
A nasty silence hung in the air. Harry had never heard his aunt call his mother by her first name before. "Well at least she tried," said Harry. "She might have dies but at least she tried! And it worked, didn't it? Because here I am." "And it's because of you that my own sister – my own flesh and blood-"
"I'M YOUR FLESH AND BLOOD!" Harry was dimly aware that a glass on the side had smashed. Uncle Vernon jumped and Dudley let out a squeal of terror, but Aunt Petunia – who was as worked up as Harry – hardly noticed. "ONLY BY HALF!" Aunt Petunia screeched. "YOU'LL NEVER REPLACE LILY, NEVER!" "WELL IF I'LL NEVER REPLACE HER I MIGHT AS WELL NOT BE HERE!" cried Harry. Uncle Vernon looked ecstatic. Another glass smashed. "Sorry," said Harry, regretting saying it. "You damn well should be, proposing all sorts of nonsense – "
"I meant sorry about the glass. What I said was TRUE!" Again silence descended. "Go if you want," said Aunt Petunia, controlling her temper. "You've stayed here long enough for this year. Get out. Go and find some freaks to take you in for the summer." With that, she stormed out of the room. Harry strode out after her and ran into his room. He began to throw everything haphazardly into his trunk, seething with fury. He didn't even notice what he was packing – he was so angry at the Dursley's. He picked up the photo album that held the only pictures he had of his parents.
The only pictures he had of...
He threw the book into his trunk and hurled a pile of socks on top of it.
He finished packing and shoved a few Owl Treats through the bars of Hedwig's cage angrily. She hooted at him reproachfully. "Oh don't you start," he snapped. "I'm sorry Hedwig," he sighed, stroking her with a finger. "I've got a lot on my plate." He slammed the lid of his trunk shut, picked up Hedwig and her cage and threw himself as fast as he could down the stairs and out of the house, slamming the door, and walked away without a backward glance.
Harry walked down Privet Drive, randomly kicking walls as he went past. Hedwig squawked her disapproval at this; he kept rattling her cage as he did so. Deciding that this was getting him nowhere, he dragged his trunk into a side street that was usually deserted and flung out his wand arm.
"'Ello and welcome to the Knight Bus, your friendly travel service for the stranded witch or wizard. 'Ow may I 'elp you sir – Neville!" Stan Shunpike, conductor of the large purple triple decker Knight Bus, who had leapt out as soon as it arrived, began to pump Harry's arm up and down enthusiastically. "Long time, no see mate! Where you goin' tonight then?"
"Gri – London," Harry sad, realising at the last moment. "London's a big place Nev," said Stan. "Where abouts in London?" Harry desperately tried to think of a place near Grimmauld place – the only one he could remember was Kings Cross. That wasn't too far away. "King's Cross," he said, handing Hedwig's cage to Stan as he dragged his trunk aboard. Stan led him to the nearest bed.
"Eleven Sickles," he said, holding out a hand. "'Less you want 'ot chocolate – that's firteen. Fifteen for a toofbrush." Harry gave him the silver and climbed onto the bed. "Nice trip," said Stan and clapped Harry on the shoulder.
Harry didn't even try and get any sleep – he felt as though is nerves were on fire. He tried looking at the scenery from the window but the violent action of the bus soon made him feel ill. He contented for lying back on his bed and imagining the look on the Orders face when they realised he had arrived without a guard.