Disclaimer: None of the characters and/or plotlines that are featured in the Harry Potter books belong to the author. But the plotline and character pairing/situations that you, reader, do not recognize from the book series belong to the author.
Author's Notes: Please be gentle with this fanfiction, it was started from an idea which has been going around in my head for days on end. I only just managed to scribble it down, clues are dotted about all over the place. If you've got a keen eye for catching onto the ending pretty quick then you'll be dumbfounded by this first bit, it makes utter to no sense until right to the end. If you're good enough, you might even catch the title meaning in there somewhere.
Spalmato In Ceneri
Prologue
Flames sprouted from lying bodies, long killed by one stray zooming spell. Screaming echoed through the halls of the once grand home for magical learning. Students of all ages tried their hardest to stand against those that tried to catch them, they searched their knowledge for any type of spell to grant them safety, any way to wriggle out of the situation. None was successful.
Teachers attempted to protect the ones they'd taught and come to know over the past years, tried to use their own powerful and matured understanding of magic to continue the peace that once resided with them all. Still, few stood against the looming shadows of the evil that graced the building. Those shadows, known as death eaters to you or I, pulled into the dark by uneasy upbringing or a family of those before them served, only their master.
They did as was told to them and they obeyed, enjoying sweet but fickle revenge to their desires in the process, but indeed promises were kept and fulfilled that night. Their ranks spread far and wide across the school to, as they were told, kill if necessary any child or adult whom got in their way. They did, with enjoyment.
"Get off of me!" A girl of the oldest attending her education tried to scream but her protests were muffled with the musty folds of a deatheater's cloak. He grinned foolishly while he fumbled with the girls robes, but then raised a dagger high to show it glinting in his gripe. A dagger made of strong silver taken from the egg lining of a rare dragon in Sweden - the rarest of the rare.
"No - no, please. Please don't kill me!" The girl cried, tears falling down her cheeks while she threw her arms about aimlessly. But to no avail her screams died in her throat once her attacker pulled his arm up high then plunged, sharp and practised, the weapon deep into her heart.
I can remember clear as day watching the scene unfold in front of me knowing I could do nothing - the past was the past and now, wedged into place by forces too high to mention, was impossible to alter. The stain of that girls blood splattered onto the stone wall behind her body still haunts my fleeting memories when I slip into sleep. Its hard to forget that she was one of the first, the first of the blood spilled of that time, that time when past repeated.
He followed up his perfected move again and again, not stopping until he was sure he would not even hear a whisper from the girl, not anymore. But there, several paces down were a group of youths being dragged by capturers to what was the great hall of Hogwarts then, one girl named Hermione Granger was being pulled by her bushy curls of hair. Trickles of blood dripped down from her scalp and left a smearing trial along the floor.
She was crying out in agony I could clearly tell, her back writhing each time she was yanked over a step or a piece of rock jutting out from the stone floor. She was joined but four other prisoners of the crime. A boy, wild red hair and fading freckles told me clearly his last name, even now his family were recognised for their traits, he groaned and let them chuck him about like a rag doll. His limbs limp while he was pulled, a huge gaping wound in his side adding to the blood already smeared along the floor, like the ashes.
Several minutes later each student was shackled to one side wall of the hall, the long house tables shunted to opposite end of the place. Stormy clouds stuck in the night sky, hanging over the enchanted ceiling, making the scene look magnificent if it weren't for the acts that took place there.
All about the school children were being killed, adults trying in vain to stop this were yanked and shoved against their will until they pleaded for them to stop. Sadly the sides were unmatched and outnumbered, students untrained for the few short moments of their deaths. Things could've been different if one man had faced up to his fears, had swallowed down the cowardice and seen the truth. You could say, all this was down to one man, for it was the truth at the time. But thus, the dice were wrong sided and freedom and speech almost frowned upon. But no-one dared then, that, was the price of democracy.
Deatheaters, the servants of one evil parted from their crowd and made way for their master. He entered, grace and careful, planned almost musical moves showing off his high dignity. He was not human, I got tell from first glance, I didn't even have to snatch a look at his aura to know. His face, his features, disfigured to make him appear more like a snake.
His eyes, a deep and dark red sunk into his face, his patchy and pale skin drawn tight to make his appearance more skull like. His fingers, long and bony curled around his wand, itching to show of his enormous power. Evil did like to make a show I noticed, silencing a room and making any one ordinary shiver and tingle.
"Where is he?" Lord Voldemort snarled, striking Hermione across her cheek.
"Who?" She snapped back.
"Him, him your saviour, your not-it-all little Potter scum. My objective."
"I... I don't know what your saying," She gulped then gritted her teeth when Voldemort stepped right up to her and clutched a big spindly hand around her chin, digging his fingertips in. "I, don't know where he is." Hermione cried, Voldemort's grip firming.
"You lie," he whispered, "Crucio."
She writhed in pain, screaming in utter agony. Experiencing such pain it was like millions of hot, steaming pokers were being slashed across every inch of her skin.
The others, her schoolmates and friends winced as she struggled to break free from her chains, still screeching. Tears ran from her eyes and her shouts were reduced to small sobs as the pain doubled over.
But then, it ceased. "Tell me child, I have no time for games." Voldemort's eyes seemed to light up when the girl in front of him took a deep lingering breath and attempted to talk.
"Even if I knew," she sighed deeply "I -I wouldn't tell you." Voldemort, the previous once kind-hearted and care-free Tom Riddle let a sound similar to a growl escape his throat. "Take her, do with her what you will - but remember, no-one speaks against me." He ordered.
His servants. three of them in fact unshackled the weeping girl and pulled her away, against her weak protests.
"Now you," He walked slowly toward Ron, drawing right up to him, clutching his prisoner's chin just as he had done prior. He moved Ron's head from side to side, watching his eye's roll in their sockets. "Useless." he sighed, and pushed his wand up to Ron's face, sticking it into his cheek.
"Haustus" the ancient Latin rolling off his tongue, he knew the spell well - it had given him great pleasure in watching souls suffer.
No sooner had he uttered those words, but a glowing tinge spread throughout Ron's arms and legs, gathering at a haze on his chest. Ron then started gasping, blue eyes widening in shock - his breaths becoming more and more rasped and short.
Those innocents in the room needed only to look away from the sight in front of them, as their friend chocked and spluttered as his skin wrinkled and drawn around him, making his frame look skeletal. His arms looked weak and brittle, his legs knobbly and shaking. His face, but his face looked horrible, he did not look anymore the seventeen years he was - but now much like a thin stick-like old man with a wisp of wild red hair atop his head.
Meanwhile Voldemort let out a wicked cackle, a thin smile reaching his lips. "Now children, tell me, where is he. That Harry Potter."
"Harry, come. Keep going." Harry did as he was told and tried his best not to slip, the passage to the supposedly haunted Shrieking Shack was surprisingly moist. He glanced behind him and saw an amusing sight, Dumbledore, the gracious and old headmaster down on his hands and knees scrambling along behind him.
But now he had no time to laugh at the sight, he'd been pulled from his classes almost half an hour ago to escape the screams and explosions he could hear behind him - he did not wish to imagine the blanket of evil that has ascended upon the school, according to the persistent Tonks in front of him, he had little choice.
He was desperate to go back, to face up to whatever big nor small power and dark was terrorising his friends. He could feel, deep inside him a tug, a desire to be courageous and stand up for himself and others.
So far he could tell of three ministry workers and two school teachers escorting him away from the battlefield, why he needed protection was beyond him, if the time for death was right then he'd take it. That's how Harry Potter worked nowadays you see, I'd studied his maturity rate with deep interest, even though he had what seemed the weight of the world on him, he still thought rationally.
The boy had grown on more ways than one from his first years, he now had grown into himself, if that were possible, and held his head high instead and drawing into himself. He'd finally taken on his looks inherited from his father, his unruly hairstyle finally tamed to be short and spiky - his glasses long gone as his eye-sight improved. Guesses were taken as to how he had gained excellent vision other the past three years, but still that part remained a mystery.
Harry was now deep in thought as he followed the trial, anger slowly bubbling in him, how dare they pull him away from the scene when he could stop many deaths by giving Voldemort what he wanted. If that wizard wanted him for him power then he could have it, why when Harry possessed no magic knowledge that stood out - why was he so special?
The charm, that technique his mother had used to protect him. Just because back then, Voldemort had decided to take down a family that could've possibly helped a revolution against him - just because he was protected.
Well, he was sick of being protected, being shipped off to the Dursley's each summer, to live under the rules of his horrible, completely stuck up family. Having to smuggle stale cakes under the floor boards to survive on anything other than half a grapefruit for breakfast, lunch and tea.
"Bugger," Harry heard one of the person's following him curse, after they'd bumped their head on the low ceiling, he could only grin and shake his head, the price of safety.
"Jones!" I heard a distinct and gravely voice bark behind me - here he was again.
"Yes sir?" I asked, standing up and brushing the creases out of my robes.
"Tell me you have the first lot of reports, they need to be finished, and on my desk. by this afternoon at the latest." he almost shouted at me, Mister Fischer my fantastic and brilliant most kind boss ever stood in the doorway of my office - it was a pity he didn't fit the job description.
He stood, no slouched onto the door frame, rolls of fat going over his belt and stretching the thin cotton of his, already coffee stained shirt. His face was steadily turning purple with the days stress and I cold spot the entrails of his breakfast hanging from his thick moustache. God help his wife.
"Sir, I have them nearly done, just a few more hours and they'll be completed and ready."
"Hours? Hours, we don't do hours in the department Jones, we do minutes. How do you expect us to run half decent crime investigations if we work by hours?"
Here it comes again, the talk, that bloody speech which has already kept me behind with my paperwork twice this week, and it was only Wednesday.
"You knew when you took on this job Jones that the work would have to be completed by a respectable time - and in immaculate condition, not like your last assignment for a start."
I nearly winced, would he ever let that drop? How my four-year old managed to get his sticky mitts on my wand when I wasn't looking, for a very good reason might I add, and somehow hex my nice neat pile of papers with a bogey bat curse I'll never know. Never, never again will I let him glance through my old school books, especially when the child can read before his time.
"We run a respectable department down here, we work to provide those who've lost loved ones with the peace of knowing who committed the crime, or bringing back truth to investigations left open." here he took a deep breath, I could feel that particular part coming again, "Just because you are connected with this case, does not mean you can lazy around - this is very important. This one could put our department back on the map and bring our funds up again, if you cannot deal with the stress then -"
"Stress? I've been slaving my arse off for you for three years - do you think I haven't learnt to deal with the stress already." which is more that I could say for you, I very nearly added.
"Yes but with your current condition, you should be taking time to relax Callie." I could see the worried look in his eyes for a moment, what is it with the majority of this place? Okay so a girl admits she's going to have a second child and the whole male population practically drool at your feet.
"I've worked under these conditions before, now I have work to do." I pulled my ebony coloured hair into a messy pony tail, I wasn't in the mood for him at the moment, maybe he could just go away so I could get on with my job.
It was probably the hormonal edge on my tone which made him turn without a word and walk out of the doorway, pulling the door shut behind him, but damn it was good to have some peace and quiet for once. Now, continuing with my notes.
"I'm going back," he exclaimed, his words echoing around the small tunnel before he stepped out into the dusty room, the floorboards creaking under his feet. He was met by an uneasy glare from Tonks, she'd chosen to keep her hair cropped but still that bright shocking pink, her latest 'fad' of multiple body studs glinted in the dim light.
"You must stay here, it is important that you are kept away from danger." Dumbledore's wise words caused Harry's re-think he decision - but his mind was still made.
"But what about my friends?" He pleaded.
"I'm sure they are being looked after now, the ministry have assured me that the castle is secured."
"Secured? Then why can't I go back?"
"Because," the surly Professor Snape cut in, his tone deep, "what's necessary right now is your safety." Harry took note of his attire, a dark hooded cloak that swept the dust from the floor when he moved and thick boots that made an amusable clunking sound with every step.
Harry eyed the ministry workers, two men and a woman - probably auras in disguise he thought. But I knew, I knew what they were.
"I'm going." Harry stood his ground, clenching his fists and prepared to go against anything they told him.
"You're not," One woman, the one who'd bumped her head in the passage way, he was sure it was her voice he heard, she stuck her chin high and lectured him on the reasons why too. Too rational to care Harry ignored her by cutting in,
"Shove safety and importance, I'm going back." And with that he dashed out of the room, feeling uneasy with the strength of the floor beneath him, it shook unnaturally as he ran and he was sure it wouldn't hold him for much longer. He felt guilt. Guilt for going against Dumbledore, but he did feel it was right somehow.
Thinking that his past root was blocked he made for the stairs, but then just missing his left ear he noticed the sparkle of a body binding curse just skim past him. They were after him.
Pulling out his wand from his belt, where it had been safely concealed for a long while, he turned almost blindly and shot any curse he could think of in nearly all directions. He thought he heard the scream of his name and the weep of someone in horrible agony, but it was all ringing in his ears as he shot out of the battered doors and out into the street.
He didn't care nor see the people staring at him, but he did take notice of the darkmark looming over the castle in the distance. Harry dared not look behind him, but he looked and saw countless explosions of spells and unmistakable dark hexes and curses billowing from the school. Secured huh?
Flinging his body around again and pointlessly shouting spells, and two unforgivable curses he noted. Then, he fled towards Hogwarts - not caring who he'd injured, as long as he did what was right, so he thought.
Finally. I stashed the pensieve away in its cabinet and sighed. One long day or what. My notes lay ready for processing and my desk for once tidy.
I walked over to the door and glanced out at the rows of desks and countless cauldron stalls, completely deserted par the few hard-core workers. All was quiet I noticed, maybe I could take a request in for night shifts, at least I'd be out of the way of Fischer, I swear the guy lived to taunt me.
Gathering my bags I picked today's (or more like yesterday's) Daily Prophet, and skimmed over the head line, I couldn't help but smile. Chuckling in spite of myself I shuffled out of the building, going through the usual security checks that I know now off by heart. I suppressed a yawn and thought of home, the caffeine glory of a cup of coffee and maybe, sleep. Still, that headline left some amusement to my day - that Reeta Skeeta woman never ceased to amaze me.
How she got wind I'll never know, the thought fleeted from my mind when I lobbed the paper in my bag and prepared to floo. But not with one last complaint, damn stupid bugs flying around at this time of day.
The Daily Prophet, Article ID 67845, Author: Reeta Skeeta,
Ministry Re-Opens Potter Case After Nearly Thirty-Five Years
