Harry Potter & the Child of Phoenix
Disclaimer: We've discussed this. I don't own anything! Except for the plot and the characters you've never heard of. They're mine. Mine.
Chapter Three: Old Dogs & New Tricks
The days following his birthday passed uneventfully for the Boy-Who-Lived, which he occupied with chess games and house cleaning with Mrs. Weasley. Unable to follow through on his promise, Ron began his summer essays when Hermione scolded him raw for not even reading on what they were about.
"How could you just—just laze about, when you know perfectly well you have work to do?" She raged. The three were sitting in the drawing room they had managed to de-doxify last summer. "How are you setting an example for the younger kids?" Ron's eyebrows flew up in his hairline, and he eyed the vacant area derisively.
"I don't see any younger kids 'round here. You, Harry?" he asked. Harry raised his hands in surrender.
"Leave me out of this." He informed. It was good to catch early on when an argument could be a long one. This qualified as one of those arguments. It was a fair, even exchange between the two as long as he wasn't dragged in to take sides. It was much better to be on good terms with both friends, rather than only one. Ron scowled at him and glowered at Hermione.
"I'm talking figuratively, of course." She explained.
"As always." He rolled his eyes. "I'd like to think I'd need to be among first years to actually set one."
"Think of Ginny. How do you think this influences her?"
"Ginny isn't in the room." Ron enlightened. "And I think you need to worry about Fred and George's influences, not mine. Who do you think taught her that infamous Bat-Bogey Hex?" Hermione wasn't deterred.
"You—are—a—prefect," she pointed out. Ron glowered at her lightly, before returning his attention to his comic.
"I'm officially off duty when summer kicks in." Ron turned the page of his wizard comic book. Harry refrained from letting Hermione know Ron was right, he didn't have to uphold the 'sanctity of prefectionsim' as Fred and George (and Ginny) dubbed it. She shook her head still.
"A good prefect always practices their craft." She stated in an official manner. It sounded too much like McGonagall for Harry's taste.
"What's that? Rule number 3.0.1, clause four?" he questioned snidely.
"No, it's rule two, section eight, paragraph two." Hermione informed acerbically, through clenched teeth. Ron threw her a disbelieving look, topped with a hint of disgust.
"Probably the only one who memorized the darned book."
"And I doubt you've actually took the time to read it." She retorted. "If you had, then you'd have known."
"Mind you, they're a bunch of mindless common sense policies." He narrowed his eyes at a particular vibrant strip. "Crabbe and Goyle could have come up with them."
"Crabbe and Goyle have probably already done their essays." She snapped in exasperation. Ron blushed a bit behind his comic.
"Not if they can't read." He replied in a singsong tone. Hermione would have burned clear through the comic book with her glower. "I wish I could play Quidditch, now." Harry concurred silently. Hermione rolled her eyes.
"But you still have your essays to do." Ron freed an exhausted sigh.
"And I will do them."
"When? As the Hogwarts Express pulls up to Hogsmeade Station?" she taunted.
"I was thinking more like the morning of first classes," he scanned the Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle. Hermione narrowed her eyes dangerously.
"You wouldn't."
"Okay, I wouldn't." he consented. A smile broke out on Hermione's face. Harry sighed. The argument seemed to be over. "But I'd still do it on my own time." Electricity seemed to shoot out of the tips of Hermione's wild tresses.
"You're impossible!" she nearly shouted. Ron sat undaunted.
"Which is why you like me—why we're friends." He simply grinned. He didn't seem to notice the effect his words had on the bright witch. A small smile graced her lips and she blushed a brilliant shade of Weasley red.
"Just start on your essays. Saves you time if you do it while you're bored." She spoke softly. Ron glanced from his comic and set it down.
"For you, Hermione." He relented. "I'll begin one." As Ron left the room, Harry could see the bright tips of his ears matching his hair. Exhaling in relief, Harry got up to follow Ron. Hermione looked up from a large book she was reading concernedly.
"Something wrong?" she asked, her voice laced with worry. Harry shook it off.
"I was just going to get my essays. Maybe you could read them?" He responded. The witch gave him a suspicious look.
"You've done your essays?" she queried, a threatening tone of disbelief hanging in the air. Harry felt annoyed she would doubt him.
"Yes," he answered curtly. "I did them all." Beaming, she urged him on.
"Well done, Harry! Go get them!" he slowly left the drawing room and headed up the stairs. Ron was rummaging in his trunk for books and parchment when he entered.
"Need something?" he proposed. The redhead shook his shaggy mane.
"Got it, thanks." He declined. "What're you up to?"
"Hermione wants to check my essays." Harry answered, absently poking around his trunk for his summer work.
"You've already done? Do I need to worry about you growing bushy black hair, now?" he joked. The two headed back to the drawing room together, Ron working on his Transfiguration essay, Hermione correcting Harry's.
Days passed lethargically as well as Order members. There were three meetings in the last week, and they all seemed intense. Fred and George still hadn't been able to join the Order, but were promised membership in the near future. Their flesh-colored Extendable Ears were no use in breaking the Imperturbable Charm on the meeting room, so they could only guess what they were talking about. The most they heard was a raid in some museum in Greece none of them had heard about, and they'd gleaned that from listening on the landing.
Sirius hadn't been back, and Harry hadn't heard from him since he spoke to him through the two-way mirror, and he wasn't sure if he should be strongly worried or merely concerned. He was a grown wizard, and could handle himself quite well, but he was still labeled as a mad convict on the loose.
Kreacher, the depraved house elf, hadn't eased Harry's mind when he muttered his ill wishes for horrible fates befalling Sirius, in what he thought was under his breath. Harry didn't support Hermione's chiding of Ron when he called the senile elf a 'useless sack of wrinkles with a mouth,' and Ginny, in a fit of rage, proceeded to hurl him pell-mell across the room into a stuffy couch.
"Young Mistress does as Young Mistress pleases," he croaked, wobbling off the chair, his small bones creaking, but not before speaking in his loud and lucid 'undertone,' "oh, what would my Mistress think, blood traitor, Mudblood-lover girl thinking she's the new Mistress, oh, my Mistress will not be pleased…" and he tottered out of the room. Ginny held up a hand to silence Hermione's incoming excuses.
"He's a pest, Hermione," she hissed, her honey-brown eyes flashing gravely. "He nearly cost all of us our lives." Harry and Ron readily agreed.
"We should set it up so we accidentally chop off the nutter's head." Ron offered thoughtfully. "I expect he'd be real pleased his life goal was finally fulfilled." Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of it, and resorted to glaring at the last and youngest male Weasley.
Mrs. Weasley had just yelled for everyone to come for dinner when the front door of Grimmauld Place slammed shut. Descending the staircases, the teens heard a soft female voice audibly curse as a loud crash was heard.
"Damn umbrella rack—" Tonks muttered, but the rest of her words were drowned out by a screeching wail. The curtains for Mrs. Black's portrait parted, and she began her tirade.
"BLOOD FILTH, SCUM! TAINTING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS, MUTANTS—" Lupin and Kingsley rushed from the kitchen to pull the drapes together. "SICK ABOMINATIONS, BEFOULING MY HOUSE, BE GONE!" The four teenagers carefully walked down the stairs after Kingsley and Remus forced the curtains shut. Harry shook his head.
"You'd think she'd realize by now we aren't going anywhere," Ginny mumbled and led the others to the kitchen.
"I strongly doubt it, Ginny." Remus answered tiredly. Harry had just remembered the moon would make an appearance in a few days. And with a small tinge of hope, he was eager to see his godfather, too.
Dinner was a usual affair, the adults chatting in low tones, the teenagers talking excitedly about what they'd do for the rest of the summer. Mrs. Weasley informed the others about taking them to Diagon Alley the last week in August, which they agreed to. It was only a few more weeks before they needed to purchase their supplies. After supper, the others headed up to their rooms, Hermione and Ginny following the boys to theirs. As soon as Ron opened the door, the lamps flared and illuminated an unfamiliar gray owl at the top of the armoire between Hedwig and the buzzing Pigwidgeon. It carried three letters in its beak, and swooped down to drop it on Ron's bed. Ron shifted to his drawer and fumbled for a few owl treats before tossing them to the owl. It hooted in thanks and few off into the night. Ginny seized the letters and passed out two, one each to Ron and Hermione.
"Hogwarts letters," she answered Harry's curious look. "Books and things, I guess. I'll open it when we head to the Alley." She flopped down on Harry's bed as Hermione ripped into her correspondence. Her eyes flew across the words of a notice behind the standard letter, and she shrieked. Ron looked at her in shock. Her huge smile and celebratory dance scared the boys, but made Ginny giggle.
"I GOT ELEVEN O.W.L.S.! ELEVEN!" she cried, her eyes shining with unshed tears. Ron's eyes bulged in their sockets, and he tore open his envelope, flinging aside the usual missive, and scanning his records. His eyes didn't exactly light up as much as Hermione's, but he smiled nonetheless.
"Six," he stated, stuffing the card back in his shredded envelope. "Six O.W.L.s." An odd, strange glint of sadness flashed across his brown eyes before his smile brightened. Hermione jumped around him.
"Did you check yours, Harry? Have you checked?" she jabbered excitedly. Harry took his envelope from his bedside table and carefully opened it. He smiled at Ginny's glare as he took his time to rip the seal. His dinner suddenly seemed to transfigure itself into hundreds of butterflies fluttering in his belly. It made him feel more nauseous and anxious than ever.
"Well, hurry up, Harry! Look, the sun's already setting!" Ron teased. By the look in his eye, he was just as nervous as Harry. Suddenly, thoughts flitted through Harry's head. What if he didn't get enough O.W.L.s? What if he only got one good O.W.L. and was kicked out of Hogwarts? Or worse—what if he didn't get enough to be an Auror?
He ultimately pulled out the wan card with the ministry seal. He briefly glanced over his grades. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a Muggle chainsaw.
"Well?" Hermione prodded. "Can we expect a future Auror?" She nervously shifted on the balls of her feet. There was an audible sigh in the small room when the wizard smiled.
"Seven O.W.L.s." Hermione and Ginny both squealed and the youngest Weasley joined in her dance. Ron maneuvered around the terrifying females and thumped Harry on the back genially.
"Good on you, mate!" he congratulated. "Looks like we're both having Potions together. Not too thrilled about that. Snape for another two years." Ron feigned retching and read over the rest of the classes. Harry's mind wandered to how he actually passed his Potions O.W.L., since he seemed to be worse than Neville. Not that extreme, but close. Snape would sure be startled to see him next month. The girls were still dancing and hopping around the room like rabbits.
CRACK!
Ron yelled and jumped behind Harry in fright. The twins laughed and eyed the dancing girls. With a brief glance at each other, they began their own dance.
"What are we dancing for?" Asked George, hopping from foot to foot.
"Yeah. Kreacher suffocate under Mrs. Black's bloomers?" Fred added, with his own spastic moves. At this, Hermione quit skipping to look fiercely at the twins. George shook his head.
"Guess not then." He and Fred quit their boogie. "No need to celebrate, now." Ron grinned widely.
"Got our O.W.L.s." he enlightened. "I got six." If he thought this would impress his older brothers, he was sorely mistaken.
"Following in Percy's footsteps already." George declared mock-sullenly. "And at such a young age, too."
"Wait, why aren't you two at work?" Hermione asked.
"Hermione dear," Fred imitated his mother. "We have hired help at the moment. I think we deserve a day off from our spectacular pranking."
"A true prankster never takes a day off," informed Ginny knowingly. George beamed proudly and pat her head.
"We've taught you well, young Weasley." He feigned sadness. "If only Ron would've listened. He could have been saved by our words of wisdom."
"Oh, shut up," the youngest male Weasley glared. "Let's go tell mum." As the others followed him out (Fred and George still keeping their conversation on what Ron could have been), Harry thought his feeling of euphoria couldn't be dimmed. He was one step closer to gaining his ideal career.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting in the drawing room the next night, the boys playing a passionate game of chess, and Hermione, of course, reading. Just as Ron's queen checked his king, there was a harsh crash coming from the entrance. The three whipped around and faced the drawing room door, hands steadily on their wands. A many loud barks were heard, as Mrs. Black began her diatribe once more. Harry heard Kingsley and Moody struggling to push the drapes to conceal her, and the odd barking was still resounding through the house. Then it clicked.
"Hang on…" Harry began, squinting his eyes, as if trying to see something. "I know that bark." He shot out of the room, Hermione and Ron hot on his heels. Running down the steps, Harry smiled at the sight of the straggly, familiar, long black hair of his godfather.
"We really need to get that old bat off the wall," he told both Moody and Kingsley. The teenagers beamed at the innocent convict.
"Sirius," Harry trotted the rest of the way down the steps. "You're back." Sirius turned around with a smile, but quickly frowned at his godson's content tone.
"So good to know I've been missed." He raised an eyebrow before ruffling his godson's askew hair. "Ron, Hermione." He nodded to each of them in turn.
"I've tried contacting you, but you were out of reach, I guess." Harry said.
"Important work. Sorry I couldn't chat, Harry." He apologized, walking to the kitchen. "You all eaten all ready? Haven't had a decent meal in weeks." He stated absently.
"Probably still stew in the kitchen." Ron pointed out. "Mum's made tons." Sirius nodded his head.
"As long as there aren't any raw meats in them. I've had my fill of rats, frogs and deer." He intoned seriously. Hermione made a noise of disgust in the back of her throat before shaking it off.
"No, beef, I think. Maybe roast." Ron recited. "Not sure. It tasted kind of weird. Mum wasn't paying much attention. Maybe Kreacher dropped some extra seasonings in it." Hermione shot him a scornful look.
"You sure he didn't fall in the pot?" Sirius added, with disappointment, picking at his nails. "Pity. Would've loved to have gotten rid of him." Hermione opened her mouth to—what Harry believed was—plead with the last remaining Black to set the vicious house-elf free, but Harry stomped generously on her foot and shook his head. She didn't look at him for the rest of the journey to the kitchen.
Ron and Hermione grabbed bowls and utensils for Sirius while Harry got a glass and the pitcher of butterbeer out. Sirius sat himself at the long table and glanced without purpose around his childhood kitchen.
"Wish I could say I missed this place," he drawled stonily. "Hard to, after everything it's done to you." Hermione and Ron shared a look before handing him his stew. Harry plunked a flagon of drink before him, and serving him the rest of the bread loaf from dinner. The gaunt man tore into the meal unceremoniously, greedily lapping at the soup, true to his Animagus form. Hermione's nose flared in astonishment, and Ron actually appeared disturbed. Harry nervously sat across from Sirius, and the others—somewhat hesitantly—followed.
"Got our O.W.L. results," he began limply. He wasn't sure if his godfather was paying attention, but from the inconspicuous bob of his head he went on. "Got seven. Ron got six, and Hermione, eleven." Sirius' face re-emerged from his bowl and he grinned toothily at the three.
"Congratulations. Your folks must be proud, Ron. As are yours, Hermione." He wiped his face on his sleeve. "I'm proud of you, Harry. Reckon your parents'd of been thrilled." Harry nodded hollowly at the thought of his parents.
"Yeah…" The silence ensuing was only permeated by Sirius' beastly slurps and satisfied chuckles. Hermione fidgeted with the end of her skirt, while Ron studied the burn marks on the tables.
"So," Sirius belched with a huge grin. "Anymore for seconds?"
Harry surveyed the dusty room with a disappointed huff. Long, ashen fingers gripped the edge of the wooden throne in anger. The healthy fire in the filthy hearth burned high, its flames licking the mantle over it. His hands were lit with a vibrant orange shadow, crackling like the roaring fire.
The full moon cast an eerie glow about the objects in the room not illuminated by fire, its blue luminosity highlighting the grimy chairs and table in the center. He'd been in this room before. And he was excited then. But now…now, he was livid. The insolent peon had yet to present himself with his report. He'd been waiting for weeks for this report. And he'd better have one.
Somehow, Harry knew if all went as planned, he would have an unlimited amount of power behind him. Wielding evil would be but a flick of a wand, or something as simple as a one-word command. After tonight, domination would prove much easier. No longer would he scrounge for followers or chase after minute objects. The past was a ways behind him, and the future, a mere arm's length. He'd risen to power, all right; but after this midnight hour's account, he would be power.
Shuffling and muffled words were heard from behind sandy oak doors, and the brass handle had clicked. A stout figure tumbled into the room, uneasily adjusting his dark robes, blacker than the soul within him. Harry unobtrusively shook his head in disgust. Why he put up with the bumbling fool after all these years, he could not fathom. Perhaps it was because he was his second (or third) most faithful servant, returning to restore him after all these lingering years.
Or maybe it was his shifty character, changing like the magical chameleon with every backdrop. He had more disguises than the average spy, flitting about as if he'd been faithful the entire time.
Was it his uneasiness, overflowing with the zeal to please his master? Or was it greed, his puny mind assuming once he attained unutterable full power, he'd finally be rewarded. Harry's throaty, malevolent chuckle escaped his throat. Wasn't his silver hand enough repayment?
The round man stumbled on the shabby Oriental rug. His wincing could easily be heard above the roar of the fire, and his telltale trembling only served to seal his fretfulness. He bowed before Harry, took the hem of his black robes in his shaky hands, and planted an extolling kiss on it.
"M-Master…" his wobbly, high voice spoke. Harry sighed in annoyance.
"Hold your stammering tongue, Wormtail. On your feet." He barked in irritation. "You had better have good news for me. Wormtail's eyes swelled to the size of saucers. Thoughts rushed through his mind like a thousand rodents, and Harry broke his icy eye contact with him. "Have you located the weapons?" Wormtail glanced to the fire, the window, the filthy floor and back to Harry in swift succession.
"N-No, master…" he whispered. Harry's red eyes widened in anger. He grasped his dark wand and aimed it at Wormtail.
"Failure!" he shouted, his voice high and cold. "You have been given weeks!"
"M-Master…"
"Do you think I run on a lax program?" he demanded. "Crucio!" The large man was on the floor, writhing in agony, his pitiful cries piercing the stillness of the room. Harry ended the curse and scowled.
"Rise, you sniveling catastrophe." He menaced. "Explain yourself."
"M-M-Master," Wormtail's stuttering was noticeably worse. "We've c-c-connected with your ac-acquaintance…h-he has n-n-not been able to l-locate the weapons. B-But he h-h-has a g-g-general idea of wh-where they m-may b-be." This intrigued the irate Harry.
"And?"
"W-We have r-r-raided one of th-the museums, m-my lord," he continued. "And f-found nothing. His evilness s-sends y-you his c-c-condolences…. And as a g-gift, off-offers you an—an alliance." With these words, Harry's lips twitched into a smile.
"An alliance, you say?" he tapped his white, bony index finger to his serpentine bottom lip.
"Y-Yes…" Wormtail quivered in his place. "He awaits y-y-your w-word, m-my lord." It was one thing to see the Dark Lord livid, but to see him happy, was just…unnerving. With a feral chuckle evading his throat, Harry looked piercingly at Wormtail through Voldemort's eyes.
"Return to him at once, Wormtail." He ordered with a grin. "I readily accept his offer." The shivering Death Eater released a tiny sigh of relief before nodding. "Ah, yes…. the wizarding world is but a stone's throw from my authority." With a wild, high laugh sending polar shivers down Peter Pettigrew's back, the room dissolved in a swirl of color.
And miles away, Harry Potter sat bolt upright in his bed and yelped at the pain shooting through his scar.
A/N: Finally, a good cliffie. At least I think. What do you think? No idea how the whole O.W.L. thing works. I just gave them a point for each class they got an 'O' or an 'E' in. R & R, let me now! BTW, Happy Birthday, Chris! My number…er, yeah, a fan…. lol.