Title: To Hell and Back
Author's pen name: Ashlynn LionHart
Universe(s): Harry Potter and Inuyasha
Disclaimer: I dot not own anything from the Harry Potter books or Inuyasha series, no money is being made with this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Main pairing: Naraku/Harry
Summary: Due to an unforeseen event, Harry is pushed through the Veil by the Ministry to prevent him from being corrupted by the Dark Lord. The Order can't stop it, Harry is helpless to prevent it and something goes very wrong with everyone's plans.
AN: Here's the first chapter! You get to know more about my Harry's personality and there' the usual bucket of angst and frustration associated with the end of the fifth book. Some of you might be inclined to call it ranting. I assure you I had fun writing it. Enjoy!
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- Chapter One -
(The First Warning)
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Warm summer light was pouring onto a small bed from the nearby window, blinding its occupant and forcing his bright emerald eyes shut seconds after he had blearily opened them. Muffling a groan in his pillow, Harry rolled out of the threadbare white sheets cocooning him. He sat one the edge of the cot, staring blankly at the wall for a moment. He felt as if he had forgotten something important, but couldn't quite find it in him to dig what it was exactly. He shrugged; he could ignore whatever it was for now. It was too damn early.
He stood up, set his bare feet firmly on the cold wooden floor and went in search of some clothes for the day. Not that he was likely to roam the streets like his cousin did or, Merlin forbid, go anywhere outside, except maybe the front yard, today either.
The boy walked to his wardrobe, grabbed a handful of random articles of clothing and worked his way at blindly putting them on. It really was of no consequences whatsoever –his choice of shirts and the likes that is, since he only had Dudley's oversized castoffs to contend with anyway. He knew he could have shopped somewhere in London and bought some stuff to look less like a street urchin, but he wouldn't have been allowed to wear those here. It wouldn't do anything good to his health if he appeared to look down on his relatives' generosity. Therefore he had to dress in the horrible things.
It wasn't as if the Dursley ever felt the slightest need to do more than the absolute minimum to raise him. Or to keep me alive, he added as an afterthought, remembering the countless sleepless nights he had spent in his cupboard delirious from fever, his young body aching from the numerous chores he had had to do during the day.
He resolutely pushed this line of thoughts aside, knowing very well that it was of no use to wallow in any of the grievances his relatives had given him over the years. After all, there wasn't anything he could do about it at all and the sole person he knew who would have been likely to act on his living conditions was now utterly, definitely dead.
That was another fact he was loathing to linger on.
The man had been the closest thing he had ever come near of to have a real family. Hell, the simple memory of when Sirius had asked Harry to live with him was able to drive off hundreds of dementors when he cast a patronus.
A fleeting smile grew on his lips, but it was gone as fast as it had come. No, he wouldn't get away from his personal prison until he reached seventeen. Even then, the only difference is going to be a change in jailers, he thought bitterly. Just like the Dursley had done, the Order's members would try their hardest to keep him cooped up in a place he hated the very idea of returning to.
While Harry despised 4 Privet Drive as the house that had witnessed his appalling childhood, having to live at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, would be true torture for him. Surely someone was bound to realize that? But no, no one had and he was doomed to spend the last two weeks of the summer holyday enclosed in the space that had, only months ago, been home to his beloved godfather. If I have to endure Snape's jabs on Sirius as well… There would most likely be a repeat of the disaster he had caused in the headmaster's office, it couldn't be helped.
The worse thing with Grimmauld was to know it could have been his home too. Somewhere he could have finally found some sort of solace from the looming war and the constant, ever growing expectations of the wizarding world. He felt a sharp pang of longing; it was never meant to be.
Now, he had to be given permission to go there for any reason, a huge and loving family had taken temporary residence in the house as if they owned it, strangers from Dumbledore's 'old crowd' would come and go as they pleased and most of the various dark artifacts littering the place's every corners where scheduled to visit the dumpster at Mrs. Weasley's earliest convenience. Granted, Sirius wouldn't have given a damn about them, but Harry considered those objects, today, as a part of his godfather's history. They were there when the man had grown up and the teen had no doubt they had some sort of familial value he wasn't aware of, but that Padfoot had been told when he was still a small child. None of the remaining Black he was acquainted with would ever be willing to share anything on the…things. They would rather see him dead at their feet or writhing in agony and trapped in some cold dungeon.
He snorted loudly.
His stay in the dreadful house was inevitable.
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oOoOo
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Harry sat down on the wobbly chair before his old desk. He had found the pieces of furniture buried under the mountain of Dudley's broken toys when he got the small room in his second year. They had proven useful as far as homework and writing letters was concerned.
The teen sighed; feeling resigned, and dutifully drew a slip of parchment near him to scribble something to his watchers as he had done every three days since the beginning of the summer. Deciding to forgo the quill, he took a trusty pen from the drawer and wrote a cursory everything is fine on the paper then signed the short note. There, he thought sarcastically. That will satisfy the Order and assure Vernon that the other freaks will keep well away from his perfectly normal little house.
He let his eyes inadvertently wander to the empty stool he used to place Hedwig's cage on, feeling the loss of his familiar's soothing company acutely. Normally, he was careful to avoid the spot since it was another of those things he couldn't do anything against. He couldn't defy his uncle's demands and bring her back to his side. Not without the threat of something wretched befalling him. And I have plenty of fate's backward ideas of gifts just waiting to happen already; no use calling more of them my way I'm sure. Still, he missed the snowy owl a lot.
When Harry had returned to his relatives' at the end of his fifth year, mind reeling from the loss of his godfather and being eaten by his guilt, he had barely registered the differences in their usual behavior. It wasn't exactly obvious, but he should have realized that something was going on when Vernon had failed to snarl at him at the station and merely stood there, red faced and fist clenched, while Tonk and another unknown wizard accosted them with veiled threats and the familiar slot of warnings. They went to the car, Harry carrying only his owl's cage since he had had at least the forethought, this time, to shrink his trunk in the train. He hadn't wanted them to lock it in the cupboard again and preferred to keep it with him. It held all of his meager possessions and he, who never had many belongings, to begin with, didn't want them to take it all away again. Evidently, it had caused his friends to snicker at his paranoia. Except Hermione who had just jumped at him with her concerns as to when he would have time to do his bloody homework if he couldn't open his luggage without magic. It was only once arrived at Privet Drive that he had found his trick had paid off. His huge whale of an uncle had decided to reaffirm his claim of absolute control over his nephew's life by manhandling Harry out of the car and into the house. Something that would be repeated a great number of times in the following weeks. There he had proceeded to drag his reluctant nephew up the stairs to the second floor and then had wrenched the cage out of the boy's hands, grumbling under his breath about burning any freaky things he got his greasy paws on. He made a show of climbing to a trap in the ceiling while bellowing that the 'ruddy owl' was to stay in the attic or it would find its way into a feather stuffed pillow and that was that. Leaving Harry without time to protest, his uncle had pushed him brutally into his room. He had heard the six locks clench shut and block the door. Apparently, he had wanted the boy to stay there till the end of the summer.
Leaning back on the chair, the teen rubbed his eyes tiredly. The treatment hadn't been much of a surprise. What had stunned him was to learn the whole reason behind it. Later on the same evening, he had heard Petunia talking animatedly with her husband. Someone had written to them about the death of his godfather, Sirius Black, escaped convict and one of the only safe lines he had relied upon to get a reprieve from some of the harsher things the Dursley had burdened him with. Who would wish to anger a convicted murderer?
He had wondered who could have felt the need to be so considerate, or so stupid, as to contact his relatives and tell them of the events that had happened at the Ministry. He had literally banged his head on the wall when he had recognized whose style it was to mess around with his life. It had Dumbledore's signature all over it he was sure. The old man was barmier than he had given him credit for if he seriously thought it was a good idea to become pen pals with those muggles.
It was truly depressing to think that they were all he had left as a living link to his blood family.
Remus doesn't really count anymore.
He drew a deep, shuddering breath, folding his arms protectively around his body. The werewolf most likely blamed him on some level because he hadn't contacted him at all. There had been no words of reassurance from his friends either. He did receive a short, curt, letter recently confirming they were all currently staying at Grimmauld Place and that they weren't allowed to tell him more or owl him for that matter given that it could draw unwanted attention. Harry tried to understand and accept that, he really did, but it was so hard to know they were all together over there while he was so utterly alone. He had pushed them away from him at Hogwart when his grief was still too strong, but he didn't think he had ever cut them off like he was.
The teen was interrupted in his musings by the sounds of his relatives finally waking up and getting ready for breakfast. His aunt's shrill voice pierced the air, gushing at her son and husband as she prepared their meals. Harry straightened his spine on his seat, but made no move toward the door.
He knew it wouldn't open.
Well, Petunia was going to let him out in about an hour at least. She had managed to convince Vernon that his kind would wonder if something was wrong if they didn't catch a single glimpse of Harry outside of the house. That was bound to show you just who the brain in their relationship was. The man certainly didn't lack any brawn, for sure. He mentally scoffed, not daring to attract attention from the bunch inhaling their food downstairs. The frequent bruises on his arms were proofs that the man had little else left under his thick skull. He grimaced a little, rubbing the sore spot above one of his elbow.
The teen returned his thoughts to the door, having nothing better to do for the moment. He had always felt it was ironical how that painted piece of wood reminded him so much of his everyday life even when it wasn't there. Ever since he was born, Harry had been locked away or restricted in some manner or another. The cupboard, the house, the room with its previously barred window, the wards, the prophecy, the confines of headquarters, the grounds of Hogwart; they were, are still, akin to physical ropes binding him to a definite territory.
As if it wasn't enough, practically everyone around him participated in the creation of these iron cast boundaries. The Dursley, he was already used to deal with, but when he had, at last, thought he could taste some kind of freedom within the magical world… He was met with the crushing news that his every move would be watched closely by hundreds of peoples obsessed with his scar. He hadn't wanted any of that. He had wished to be left in peace and explore this new, fascinating world to his heart's content. He had thought of it as a haven from his slaving at his relatives'. Unfortunately, it wasn't sufficient for them to solely observe their hero from afar. No, no, no! They had to be close to him and, apparently, help him live his life in just the right way because they knew Harry Potter even better than he knew himself.
He had had to follow the flow to avoid ending completely crushed.
Then, some of them, abiding by the advices of his school's headmaster –he was multitasking like crazy if he could meddle so much –got the idea that, because the mad man who was after his life since he was a baby was back, he had to be protected lest he got his nasty little claws on his measly hide. Seriously Voldemort wasn't the first he remembered waiting to get a piece him, or render him in little pieces whatever suited the man…er the snake rather. Whichever he was closer to nowadays. As far as he was concerned, he had always had the feeling that his days were numbered –what with living under the Dursley's reign. The fact he had more difficulties to adapt to was that others were threatened as a result. He was torn between wishing he could save his own skin, for once, and let the wizards grew a spine and deal with 'the problem' or playing the Savior of the Light and doubtlessly die saving their people and, maybe, –if he survived against all odds –get convicted for murder if they tired of him later or got all 'he's the next Dark Lord!' on him.
He didn't want to die, but he didn't want to become a killer either. Even if his would be victim was of the worst kind of mass murderer with legions of crazy followers hung onto his every orders. Harry just couldn't warp his head around what the prophecy was leading him to.
Kill or be killed.
The boy lowered his chin to the desk, burying his nose in the crook of his left arm, the one resting on the rough, but flat, wood.
Just like that, he now had a group of self-righteous protectors who all liked to think they knew, and did, what they thought was the best for him. So he gained more zealous guards to his prison with heavy recommendations that he didn't leave the vicinity of the blood wards.
The brunette lifted his eyes from their momentary hideaway, glaring mutinously at the metal handle of the door as if its strength alone could force it to move. It probably could, he mulled. But it wasn't worth getting his ticket to freedom, as relative as it was, ripped away from him by the stupid Ministry.
Abandoning the pointless staring contest he had with the thing, Harry shifted his sight to the bed. Curious, he immediately zoomed on a strange stain marring his pillow. Shoulders tensing, his hand flew to his forehead. The boy's fingers made to touch the lightning bolt scar gingerly, but stopped when they met what could only be a trail of crusted, dry blood. Pupils widening with confused fear, he tried to think back as to what he could have dreamed that night that could have triggered the bleeding.
Sure, it wasn't exactly unusual for him to be plagued with nightmares and the occasional vision from Voldemort while he slept, but his scar had never bled like that before. Such a thing happened very rarely and almost only if he was near the evil wizard's real body.
Willing his mind to calm down and concentrate, Harry closed his eyes tightly shut.
He was positive he had dreamed about his godfather's fall again, as he did most nights, but there had to be something else there…he was certain.
He had a vague recollection of waking in the dark, but he couldn't make out why exactly anymore.
The beating of his heart accelerated a bit; the only thing he could remember was an intense, overwhelming desire to flee. To leave this place immediately before it was too late…before they…
Clank!
A sharp succession of the same sound made him flinch. Startled abruptly out of his thoughts, Harry turned cautiously toward the door. Putting his worries aside for the moment, he took the few steps separating him from the frustrating handle and rested his hand on it.
He would think about it all later.
The hinges were soundless as he opened and closed the door quietly behind him.
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oOoOo
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NB: You might notice along the way that I sometime repost some chapters. I do so to when I catch errors in the text and correct them. I like to beta everything myself so don't worry there's no big changes.
The next chapter is on the way.