Disclaimer: No, I don't own Harry Potter. Unfortunately. Oh well.
Author's Note: Sorry for the few day delay, but I've had finals and stuff. But, since school is officially out, I am set to go. I should have the next chapter up in a few days.
Thanks: A special thanks to FromTheLivingRoom, my first ever reviewer! I really appreciate it! And thank you the people who put this story on Alert! I really appreciate the validation! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I hope you have a fabulous day!
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Chapter Two
Harry closed his eyes, attempting to diffuse the nauseating feeling that always came with apparating. He tightened his grip on the headmaster as he felt the world spiraling back into parallel around him. Vaguely, he noticed the feeling of ground beneath his worn-in shoes; however, he made no attempt to refocus his attention on the world around him.
"Harry? Are you alright?" Harry internally sighed.
"Give me a minute, Professor."
"Of course, Harry." He heard the Headmaster making general small talk, mostly on apparating and about how some wizards get used to it quicker then others. Harry wasn't listening too hard, he was focusing primarily on his breathing, and attempting to regulate his body once again. It wasn't just the apparating either, and Harry knew it. He was also pretty sure Dumbledore knew it too, the way the old man was choosing to ignore his inner battle, considering it was blatantly obvious to anyone who chose to look closely enough.
This was a big fucking deal, even if he was downplaying it. Either Voldemort was dead, or Harry would be when he stepped into that house. He didn't want to open his eyes; while is eyes remained closed, he could pretend he was dreaming. Not that dreaming was any better then real life; to the contrary, it was normally a lot worse. But he could recognize the difference between his dreams and real life occurrences. He did however stop to consider that he couldn't remember his dreams from tonight, but couldn't bring himself to get excited over that prospect. Nothing was every easy or simple in his life, and any happiness or hope would quickly be devoured by something corrupt, or evil. It was a reoccurring pattern with Harry, ever since he stepped into the Wizarding World; while he loved magic, and the magical world, Harry just felt as though he didn't belong here. He had lost so much, and sometimes he felt like what he gained wasn't worth it in the end…the end…
Harry visibly shook himself from his train of thought, and opened his eyes quickly to dissolve any more suicidal thoughts from being entertained in his mind. Focusing his blurry vision to precision, Harry's eyes widened considerably as the scene before him brought back harsh memories.
"Kill the spare!"
A bright light.
"No!"
Dead eyes tilted back.
"No."
"No…no…no…no."
"Harry!" He felt a violent shake through his body; a blow by Dumbledore to get his attention.
Dumbledore.
"Harry, we should get going now." He didn't even notice until he tried to move that he was on his knees. Cedric wasn't there. Wormtail wasn't there. Voldemort wasn't…What was wrong with him? Harry tried to focus his spiraling thoughts, fighting against the overwhelming sense of panic threatening to take his mind. Heaving himself up in an aggressive manner, he quickly forced his legs to support him, and took off across the grave yard. He had no idea where he was going, but his legs seemed to know where to go. Vaguely, he could hear Dumbledore moving in rapid fashion behind him.
Somehow, he knew where he was going. He felt the familiar sensation through his body, one that he knew from his dreams. While he himself had only been in this grave yard once in person, he had been here hundreds of times before. Marching over the graves beneath his feet, Harry plowed through the graveyard in rapid fashion, breaking out into a near jog as the manor came into view. Riddle Manor.
"Harry, slow down!" Dumbledore was calling to him, so Harry unwillingly forced himself to keep a slower pace, allowing his elder companion to keep up with him.
The air grew more tense the closer they came to the manor, and Harry could already feel massive adrenaline pumping through his veins. Dumbledore stopped his attempt at speech, since Harry didn't seem to be paying him any sort of attention.
Harry was aware of how there was no pain attributed to his scar at all. Not wishing to get his hopes up, he attempted to regulate his near haggard breathing at the severity of his thought process. In the past, whenever Harry had been particularly close to Voldemort, as now was the case, he felt at the minimum a prickle, or pain of some sorts. The fact that he felt nothing excited him, to the point that Dumbledore had to ask him to slow his pace yet again.
As they approached the gates, Dumbledore pointed his wand at them, uttering something Harry couldn't detect, under his breath. He nodded in affirmation before turning to Harry.
"We can pass through, but I need to be holding onto you as we do so, and you must walk through first, Harry. The wards are considerably weaken, but still somewhat dangerous. Once we are both sufficiently into the grounds, all should be well," Dumbledore said to him, taking hold of his arm and propelling the dark haired teen forward. Tentatively pressing his hand to the run down gate, Harry felt a light tickling sensation, like a cat rubbing against bare shin. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself past his own trepidations and moved through the vortex onto the property. His wand at the ready, he kept his pace slow and even as he officially entered the grounds, feeling Dumbledore's hand slip from his arm.
"See, it's fine now." Dumbledore said, offering him a small smile. While Harry appreciated he was trying to make less of the situation, now really wasn't the time. Without bothering to voice the rising concerns he felt threatening to release themselves, Harry tightened his grip on his wand and quickened his pace.
Making his way up the walk, Harry couldn't help but feel like he was a walking target. Even if what Professor Trelawney saw, even if Dumbledore believed her, even if Harry believed what he saw, the bottom line was that Voldemort had fooled them all before, and this could easily be another elaborate scheme to fulfill the prophecy.
The gravel drive crunched underfoot as they made their way towards the shabby, decrepit manor. Flaming torches were burning at intervals, lighting their path to the entrance. As they approached closer, Harry immediately noticed damage. Scorch marks covered the surroundings of the windows, which had been blown out rather unceremoniously by what could only be described as a severe internal explosion. Run down by under use and mismanage, the manor, which once was probably a stately structure, now had darken with age. It was a rather sorry sight; hardly something to be considered as a stronghold for the forces of evil, in Harry's opinion.
With tentative steps, the two wizards rose up the front few stairs to the entrance door. With a deep, calming breath, Harry found himself pushing the ancient door open, forcing it slightly. A loud creaking sound was heard as the door gave and swung back, hitting the far wall with power, before ricocheting back lightly. Pushing past him, Dumbledore moved to take the lead; if this was a trap set up for Harry, as unlikely as he felt it was, he wasn't going to risk Harry's life more then he already had by bringing him here.
Making their way through the rough, abused foyer, attired with drab walls, worn-through rugs, and bruised antique furniture, Harry couldn't help the feeling of unease that was now assaulting his mind; it seemed to be building with each passing moment. Forcing himself to concentrate on the task at hand, Harry followed quickly behind Dumbledore, who had fastened his pace as they exited the entrance hall and continued through to the other side of the door.
Stepping into a formal, but misused, living room, Dumbledore turned to Harry. Flashing to look at the two doors, Harry instinctively pointed to the one on the left, and the pair followed through with this pattern, making their way through the manor at a quick and efficient pace.
As they made their way through the manor, a smell he was far to familiar with focused on his senses, causing him to pause. Swallowing hard, he turned large eyes to Dumbledore as his heartbeat quickened. The hallway they were standing in had only one door at the far end, but even from the distance both wizards were aware of the copper smell of blood littering the area. Eyes trained on the door, Harry bypassed Dumbledore and took off in quick strides, ignoring the older man's pleas for him to let him go first.
Pushing the door open, the site before him nearly caused him to pass out. His eyes widened, and he slowly slid to his knees, causally noticing how Dumbledore had came up behind him. Hearing the elder wizard inhaling a sharp breath, Harry knew his eyes weren't deceiving him. He felt the confines of his stomach shrinking, and he knew he was going to be sick. Heaving up the remainder of his stomach contents, Harry felt his limbs giving out on him, and struggled to retake control.
The room they had entered was littered with bodies, blood carpeting the ground. There must have been over a hundred bodies. The walls were blackened, like from an explosion, and upon looking at the windows, they were the same ones that had been broken when they were entering the manor from the outside. The room was large, and most likely the general meeting room for Voldemort's death eaters.
Managing to get himself together, Harry rose from his place on the floor, and quickly magicked away the sickness from his mouth. Breathing heavily, Harry turned to Dumbledore, who seemed to be surveying the damage.
"Do you think Voldemort did this, Professor." he asked, moving to stand closer to the older wizard. Dumbledore sighed.
"I don't think so, Harry. I really don't think so." He shook his head, almost as if to turn the image from his mind. While Dumbledore recognized Voldemort's insanity, he would never kill his entire inner circle at once. Even while he attended Hogwarts, Tom Riddle was the type of person who needed to be surrounded by people at all times. While he didn't care at all about his Death Eaters, he only would have done something like this if they had all simultaneously betrayed him, and Dumbledore severely doubted that had happened here. As much as the idea scared him, he knew that someone else had committed these murders.
Maneuvering through the sea of blood and bodies, the pair made it to the door on the other side. This time, Harry allowed Dumbledore to lead without question or objection. If the next room was anything like this one, he honestly wanted no part in viewing it first; some warning would be nice. He could feel the blood beneath his feet at it soaked into his worn sneakers, and it left a sickening feeling curling in his stomach. He saw Dumbledore fiddle with the handle and push the door open. He also distinctly heard a sharp intake of breath.
"Professor?" Harry really hoped this room wasn't like the other one. He noticed suddenly that Dumbledore's attention was no longer focused on him. Following the other wizard into the room, Harry stopped in his tracks at the body on the floor. Voldemort's body. Voldemort's body, laid in awkward positioning, with his open eyes tilted toward the ceiling. His reptilian body was extremely pale, more so then before, and there was blood everywhere. Everywhere. He noticed how Voldemort's wand was a few feet from his body, in the small, decrepit room. Almost in slow motion, Harry realized Dumbledore had moved from the body, to something else in the room. Turning his head, his eyes widened at the sight presented to him.
Dumbledore was slowly approaching...a girl? A tangle of limbs shoved into the corner, she was presented as a pathetic sight. From the rise and fall of her petite chest, Harry knew she was alive, although the dull, dead way her eyes were focused on the lifeless body of the Dark Lord would hold no testimony of that. Her legs pressed to her chest, her arms circling them, she sat silent and staring, as if she didn't realize they had entered the room. Her body was covered in dirt and caked in blood, her hair matted, and the little clothing she had was dark with stains. What was she doing, here of all places? Why wasn't she dead like the others? Could she...could she have been the one to do all this?
Dumbledore approached the girl slowly, with trepidation. Though he didn't wish to jump to any conclusions, she was the only person alive in this place. Retracting his wand, Dumbledore examined her, and determined her magic was nearly completely drained, and she had a number of broken bones and bruises, under all the blood. And from what his brief scan had proven, she had been abused for a long, long time; he did however determine she was not an immediate threat. Knowing to tread lightly in situations like this, Dumbledore turned to Harry.
"I need to call the Ministry, and I would like it if you would wait with our...friend here, alright, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, his voice unusually calm for the tense situation they were in.
"Of course, Professor," Harry said, moving towards the girl slowly. Kneeing down in front of her, and effectively blocking her view of the body, Harry noticed her blank, yet vivid green eyes, and couldn't help but thinking how much they looked like his own.
"My name's Harry. Would you mind telling me what your name is?" he asked softly, not wanting to scare her. Her eyes never strayed from the spot where the body of the Dark Lord lay. It was as if she were staring straight through Harry, and, while it unnerved him a little, he could understand she was obviously in shock of the situation. Vaguely, Harry could hear Dumbledore summoning the Ministry's Auror division, but he easily turned him out. Even though she clearly wasn't about to answer, Harry continued to talk to her until the Aurors, with Scrimgeour in toe, showed up to police and canvas the place nearly ten minutes later. Harry only noticed others were in the room when it seemed the conversation had directed itself towards their favorite topic: him.
"So, it wasn't the boy to kill You-Know-Who then?" Scrimgeour asked, in his usual postulating voice. When Dumbledore replied and relayed how they had come to find the situation, it seemed as if Scrimgeour seemed to notice the girl. Most of the Aurors were still in the other room, doing a body count, while Kingsley was examining Voldemort's body a few feet from Harry. Hearing footsteps approach him quickly, Harry was prepared for whatever Scrimgeour was about to say to him.
"Who is she?" he demanded, pointing at the girl, who's gaze had remained unfazed the entire time.
"I dunno, sir. She was here when we arrived. I think she's in shock." Harry responded, attempting to reserve the contempt for the Ministry from his voice, and failing miserably.
"Well, thank you for your ever so helpful insight, Mr. Potter." Scrimgeour practically sneered, before turning his attention to the girl.
"Who are you?"
Silence.
"Did you hear me, who are you? As Minister of Magic, I demand to know this instant your name!"
Silence.
"Sir, she's in shock! You can't interrogate her right now!" Harry said, his voice raising as he stood up, blocking the Minister from the girl. "She needs help, not you yelling at her!"
"Do NOT presume to tell me how to do my job, Mr. Potter!" Scrimgeour replied. Noticing the direction things were headed it, Dumbledore knew it was his time to intervene.
"Gentlemen, right now isn't the time for petty disputes. Minister, you need to address the public, tell them what was found here today. I think they would like to know that the Dark Lord is dead, don't you? Also, I believe this girl needs hospital treatment immediately. However, I don't think it would be wise to mention her until we know more about her background." Scowling briefly at being told what to do, Scrimgeour barked an order to Kingsley telling him he was in charge, and left swiftly.
Harry turned his attention back to the girl as medical personnel entered the room, and took her away, her eyes remaining focused straight ahead. He almost asked if he could tag along with her, but caught himself before he had the chance; Voldemort was dead, he didn't need to be worrying about some random girl they found here right now.
Dumbledore talked to Kingsley briefly, before heading over toward Harry, who was staring at the medics as they took the girl away, to a place where they could apparate her to Mungo's safely.
"Harry, I'm going to take you back to the Weasley's now, alright?" The headmaster said softly, taking hold of his arm and steering him toward the door, back through the sea of bodies.
"Why can't I stay here, Professor?" he asked, although he knew it was fruitless; he knew Dumbledore would send him back to the Weasley's house no matter how much he might protest. For some reason though, he didn't feel like protesting much. It have been a few eventful couple of hours, and he really didn't want to be here, among the coppery smell of blood, any more then he had to be. Dumbledore would relay him information anyway. Plus...the Dark Lord was dead.
"Is he...is he really gone, Professor?" Harry asked, look toward the headmaster with innocent eyes of a child. Dumbledore smiled at him slightly.
"Yes, Harry. Yes I believe he is." Smiling softly, Harry barely felt the retching pull of apparation, or the bone-crushing bear he found himself in when he landed in the Weasley's living room.
"He's gone," he said softly, before he felt the world around him go black as his body crumpled to the ground.
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Enjoying a light breakfast of toast and coffee, Severus Snape casually leaned back in his chair, took bite of toast, and folded his copy of potions weekly to the next page, scoffing slightly as he read the "Fresh New Talent!" section. 'Worthless sods,' he thought to himself.
It was rare for Severus to have any down time, when he wasn't teaching or playing spy for the Order, and valued the time he had greatly. The next Order meeting wasn't for a few days, and he met with the Dark Lord only two days ago, so he was sure to have at least the next couple days to himself, which was a rarity he planned to exploit wholeheartedly.
Finishing his plate, he moved it to the sink, where it proceeded to wash and dry itself, before moving to the cabinet on the left and putting itself away. Severus moved from the kitchen table back to the living room, before sitting in his overstuffed chair by the fire, and continued to read his magazine.
"Severus." Schooling his features to ignore his surprise, Severus dropped his magazine and stared into the eyes of Albus Dumbledore's firecall.
"Albus? What is it, what happened?" He knew the elder wizard would only firecall if it was important, because he understood Severus' need for his precious alone time. Whatever reason he had for interrupting must be important. Sighing internally at the loss of his afternoon, he leaned forward in his chair, his full attention on the Headmaster.
"It has just been confirmed that the Dark Lord has been slain in his manor, along with what the Auror's can assume, the majority of the inner circle."
Pause.
What? Surely he had been mistaken. Surely he had misheard. The shock was evident on his usually impassive face. The embers of the fire danced in slow motion as Severus tried to comprehend the gravity of what he had been told.
"Severus...Severus!" Brought from his daze, he attempted to focus completely on the headmaster, and not his spiraling thoughts.
"Sorry, Albus."
"That's quite alright. I understand this comes as a great shock to you, and I can appreciate that, but there's more. The room Harry and I found Voldemort in, there was a girl. She seems to be in shock, and I was wondering if you could come to the emergency care center at Mungo's and see if maybe you can identify her, since she seems unresponsive to myself and the staff here at Mungo's."
"Of course, Albus. Just give me a moment."
"Oh, take your time, m'boy, there's no rush." And he was gone, the embers returning to normal. Severus knew only to well what women in Voldemort's army had to endure, having been part of a considerable number of "sessions" himself. The fact that she was alive when apparently everyone else on the premises was dead was not a good sigh. He didn't try to kid himself into believing that he was the Dark Lord's favorite by any means, but he did know all the Death Eaters in the inner circle, and a considerable number outside the circle, so he was pretty confident he would know this seemingly random girl.
Taking his usual long strides to his room, Severus pulled out a pair of black slacks and white button down, and proceeded to change out of his black silk night pants and white undershirt. Changing quickly, he donned his traditional black boots, grabbed his casual black cloak, and headed to the fireplace. Taking some floo powder, he stepped in quickly.
"St. Mungo's, emergency care," he said clearly, in an authoritative voice. Within seconds, he was exiting the fireplace and making his way toward the room he saw medi-witches zipping in and out of. His assumption proved correct as he saw Albus standing at the foot of the hospital bed. He noticed him immediately.
"Ah, Severus. I appreciate your promptness. This is her." Severus made his way fully into the room as the last Medi-witch left, with directions to keep quite. Severus looked to the bed, and took in the girl's appearance. Long, dark hair, extremely petite, with bright green eyes, staring blankly at the wall.
"I have no idea who she is, Albus. I apologize," he said, staring at the girl. She was clearly under nourished, but a pretty girl. Severus internally sighed; he knew how much the Dark Lord liked pretty girls.
"That's alright. I just wish I knew who she was, if she has a family." The girl seemed to be blinking a lot since Severus entered, and her eyes widened slightly.
"Are you alright, my dear? Can you tell me your name?" Dumbledore tried, moving towards her slightly at her seeming change in demeanor.
No response.
"Severus, maybe you could try talking to her." Once again, her eyes, which were still staring at the wall, widened slightly. Walking toward the bed, Severus laid his hands to grip the bed ending.
"What is your name?" he asked, in a tone that came out gruffer then he had intended.
At the sound of his voice directed at her, the girl turned her head, wide, innocent eyes locked with his. Moving her hands slowly up toward the top of her overlarge, filthy shirt, she pulled it down to right above her left breast. The word Raven was burned into her flesh.
"So, your name is Raven then?" He asked.
No response.
Her wide, almond shaped eyes were nearly boring holes into his, before she slowly removed her hands from her shirt, allowing it back in place, and stared toward the wall again.
"Well, she seems to like you, Severus. She hasn't even acknowledged anyone else's presence since we found her. Even Harry's, and most people seem to open right up to him." Dumbledore said, it what could only be described as an obviously celebratory manner.
"Great," he said sullenly, well away that he was definitely not going to have his few days of peace like he originally hoped.
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Author's Note- So, here was chapter 2, hope you liked it! Please, if you have the time, I would really appreciate a review. Thank you very much for reading!
Kade