Title: Harry Potter and the Shattered Soul

Author: Legolas-gurl88

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling is the brains of the operation… I'm merely a huge fan.

OoOoOoO

4. Oppie

Snow fell harshly all night and continued well into the morning as Harry rode through it on his broomstick, trying to ignore the bitter cold that had set in. Harry's teeth chattered uncontrollably as he soared through the air, using cloud cover to make sure no Muggles would see him. The fingers gripping his broom were numb and red, as was his nose. Still, he continued to fly, unsure of where he wanted to go. His first thought was the Burrow, seeing as he would have been going there in a days' time anyway, but he realized a bit too late that he'd never bothered to find out where it was located. The only time he'd traveled a slow way to the Burrow was in the Ford Anglia Mr. Weasley has charmed into flying, but it was difficult to read directions when several hundred feet in the air.

Harry's second thought was the Leaky Cauldron; a nice place to stay with plenty of food and warm fires to go around. But no, if Death Eaters were looking for him, they'd find him much too easily. For a while, the side of Harry's brain desperate for a break from the miserable flying experience tossed around the idea that the Death Eaters might not have been looking for him at all. However, much to Harry's dislike, the other half of his brain overruled the idea; he was sure the Death Eaters were looking for him… unless Mrs. Figg was hiding something that the Death Eaters needed? That idea faded from his mind as suddenly as it had arrived.

In spite of himself, Harry began to shiver. If he didn't find a place to stay soon, he would freeze to death. He searched the vast grounds beneath him for a sign of a hint on where he might be able to stay. He recognized plenty of the buildings; they were enough to tell him he was in London, or close to it.

Suddenly, he remembered-- how could he have been so stupid as to forget it-- Grimmauld Place. But as the feeling of hopefulness grew, so did a sense of dread. He hadn't been to Grimmauld Place since Christmas two years ago. That had been the last time he'd seen Sirius before the Department of Mysteries incident. However, what choice did he have?

Going into an abrupt dive, he aimed to land in a narrow alleyway where he'd have plenty of space to dismount so no Muggles saw him. When his feet hit the ground, he slipped a little on the thin layer of ice and fell forward, thrusting out his sore arm to break his fall. Harry let out a small cry of surprise and pain as he let himself tumble over and land on the ice. Before he had time to regain his composure, he heard a call.

"'Oo's there?"

Harry scrambled to his knees and crawled through the snow and ice to hide behind an old dumpster. Just as he peered around the corner, he saw a scruffy man looking into the alleyway, suspicion mounting his eyes.

"'Choo callin' at, Oppie?"

"'Eard somefink, I did." said Oppie, his large eyes narrowing. Another man's head popped up behind's Oppie's head and he stared around, his long beard swaying in the small draft that was making it's way through the alleyway.

"Well, you mus' be 'earin' things, Oppie, look! There's no one there! Now, c'mon, 'fore I hafta pull ya."

Both men's heads disappeared and Harry waited a moment, listening to their voices die away. Then he stood up and walked back around the dumpster. He began to shiver harder. However, in all the chaos of the night before he hadn't remembered to bring a jacket or cloak, so he remained freezing. He pulled out his wand and whispered another short spell and watched as his broom shrank into the size of a small toy model broomstick. Picking it up, he brushed it off and pocketed it. Then, taking a deep breath, he emerged from the alleyway onto a sidewalk covered in snow. Very few cars were passing, as the sun had only just come up, but there were several people walking down the streets, all dressed in warm jackets and hats.

As Harry passed them, several Muggles eyed him cautiously and Harry was sure they, like himself, wondered why he hadn't thought of wearing a jacket before leaving the house.

He wandered around London for a few hours, occasionally stopping in shops to warm himself up. He spent nearly twenty minutes in a corner café gazing longingly at the different types of croissants stowed away in a revolving glass shelf for display. His stomach let out a loud growl as he watched them spin endlessly around but he didn't have any Muggle money to buy one, not to mention any wizard money to catch a ride on the Knight Bus.

Harry mentally kicked himself; of course… the Knight Bus. He could have easily taken the Knight Bus to Grimmauld Place, if he'd thought of it before sending his money pouch to Ron's house. Becoming slightly flustered, Harry's mind once again returned to the idea of Apparating illegally. He didn't know what the consequences were for Apparating without a license. He remembered Mr. Weasley once mentioning a heavy fine, but being a newly qualified wizard, would the fine be higher or would there be a special case? Would there be a possibly of having to face another hearing if he splinched himself? But what choice did he have, being stranded with nothing but his wand and his shrunken broomstick, and no map or money, nor idea of where to go?

Checking behind his shoulder, Harry ducked into the nearest alleyway and hid behind an old dumpster, leaning against the old, damp brick wall. His heart was beating unusually fast in his chest. He couldn't think of any other way than to Apparate. And perhaps, he hoped (and yet felt guilty to think it), there might be an exception to the law in the case of the 'Chosen Boy Who Lived', especially if he played it friendly with Rufus Scrimgeour afterwards.

Taking a deep breath, his mind fully made up, Harry stepped away from the brick wall and closed his eyes. He imagined the door to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, with no mailbox, or lock. Harry allowed every other thought to pass out of his mind as he focused fully and completely on his Destination. The first D, he thought with amusement, remembering the Apparation lessons from the previous year at Hogwarts. Or was it the second D…?

No, he told himself, don't think of anything else. Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place… Number Twelve Grimmauld Place…

Harry's fists tightened as he concentrated harder and harder and then, he turned.

The next feeling was the familiar sudden uncomfortable sensation of being pushed through a tight barrel that he simply could not fit in to. He couldn't breathe, his eyeballs were being pushed into his head, his ears popped, his lungs felt as though they had collapsed.

Then the cold air hit his face with such a force that he nearly stumbled. Harry opened his eyes again to find that he was standing in front of the door to Grimmauld Place. Hugely pleased with his illegal accomplishment, Harry's heart skipped. Quickly, he peered around to be sure that no Muggles were around to have seen him appear out of thin air. When he saw no one, Harry faced the door and turned the knob. The door creaked open.

Harry stepped into the entrance hall, careful not to make much noise. After closing the door behind him, Harry took in the sight of Grimmauld Place. It was much dustier than it had been two years previous, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been before the Order took to cleaning it up. The curtains were drawn, leaving it quite dark except for the little bit of sun able to bleed through them. Harry immediately noticed slight differences in the scene before him. The troll's leg that had before been used as an umbrella rack was gone; no doubt stolen by Mundungus, thought Harry, his stomach boiling with anger. As were several portraits and pottery decorations that had once sat on tables and chairs. The only thing that hadn't changed dramatically was the drape drawn across Sirius's mother's portrait, proving that the Order had still not been able to get her down.

As unwelcoming as the house was, it was undoubtedly warmer than the weather outside, even when the fireplace was not lit. Harry tip-toed over to one of the armchairs that had not been looted by Dung and dropped himself into it. The soft cushions felt good on his aching back and they warmed him considerably. He was even tempted to take a nap, but his stomach told him otherwise. After resting a bit longer, he stood up and walked into the kitchen to see if the Order had left any food. Walking to the nearest cupboard, Harry pulled it open and, to his surprise, found mounds and mounds of bagged and canned foods. There was even a jar of jam labeled with Mrs. Weasley's handwriting-- Dumbledore's Raspberry Jam. Harry couldn't help but laugh quietly. He reached out and grabbed the jar with one hand with the other, grabbed a loaf of bread.

With great effort, Harry pried the jar open and sat at one of the kitchen chairs. He pulled two slices from the loaf of bread and then grabbed his wand out of his pocket.

"Accio knife!" he whispered and a drawer a the other end of the kitchen sprang open. Out jumped a knife and it soared through the air, stopping only when Harry grabbed the handle and helped himself to raspberry jam on toast.

Harry crammed the whole slice into his mouth and savored the flavor of the jam. After going almost two days with no food, Harry felt grateful that there was a full cupboard that he could go to that was all his. Floorboards directly above the kitchen creaked and Harry gazed upwards. However, after a second or two, the creaking ceased and Harry resumed to eating his snack.

The rest of the day was spent by walking around the familiar house and finding out what had survived the wrath of Mundungus Fletcher. Harry found that almost all the furniture in the Drawing Room was gone and the bed in the Master Bedroom where Sirius had slept was absent. It even took Harry a bit to find out that several mounted House-Elf heads were missing from their normal spots on the walls, as well as all the expensive jewelry in Mrs. Black's jewelry box. It was then that Harry decided that as soon as Mundungus got out of Azkaban, Harry would kill him for lifting so many of Sirius's old possessions-- Harry's only mementos of anyone that had ever seemed like a father to him.

Silently, he walked into his and Ron's room to find that almost nothing was missing. However, Harry wasn't too surprised, because the beds were old and lumpy.

"So… you're back, are you?" said a sly voice behind Harry and he spun around to see who had spoken.

Phineas Nigellus was leaning on his frame in a regal manner, stroking his fur jacket and plucking at his black glove uninterestedly. He didn't even look at Harry.

"Yeah," answered Harry. Unsure of what else to say to the man, he turned away and gazed out the snow-piled window. Outside was nothing but a blizzard of snow and tree branches swaying in the wind.

"Well, no matter how thick you are, you're much better company." said Phineas. Harry turned back to the portrait.

"What?"

"I said, 'you're much better company', dolt."

"Better company than who?"

"Well, he hasn't been the house for a few days. I visited some other portraits and found him in the attic this morning, snarling and barking. Now, I cannot remember his name…."

Harry's mind raced. Snarling and barking?

"Lupin?"

"Yes!" said Phineas, pointing a gloved finger almost accusingly. "Yes, that's the name. Lupin, he told me."

"Lupin's here?" Harry asked aloud, more to himself than to the portrait. However, Phineas continued to speak, clearly enjoying the conversation after being shut up for so long alone. But then, Harry cut him off.

"Where did you say he was? The attic?"

"Yes," said Phineas, throwing out his chest in defiance, "but I wouldn't go up there now if I were you. He told me he'd be better tonight."

"Has he taken his potion?" asked Harry.

"As if I know. He doesn't talk to me." sniffed Phineas, turning his nose up at Harry in a dignified manner.

"Alright, then," said Harry, starting to get annoyed. He turned away from Phineas once more. Then, he mumbled, more to himself than the old Hogwart's headmaster, "I'll just go downstairs and wait."

With that, he exited the room, leaving Phineas huffing at the indignity of being treated most rudely. In fact, he ran through two portraits of other Black family members who shrieked in anger, just to chase Harry. Though Harry tried to ignore him, he picked up sentences like "insensitive adolescent" and "disrespectful to the entire Black Family".

"--just like that great-great-grandson of mine! Ho-ho! You're just like him, besmirching our name… his mother had a right mind to disown him!"

"Yeah, and Regulus was loads better, getting himself killed by Voldemort!" Harry yelled, turning on his heel halfway down the staircase leading to the entrance hall. His voice echoed and he could hear Mrs. Black's portrait come to life, her shouts echoing with Phineas'. Amongst all the din, Harry heard a dog give a loud howl that turned into a shout of pain.

"Look," Harry said over Mrs. Black, giving Phineas a look that stopped him yelling.

"No, no, you've said enough, you have." Phineas said stiffly as though he deeply insulted, looking coldly down his nose at Harry. "Regulus died too young… much too young. But he died with honor, unlike his no-good elder brother."

Harry gave a sour laugh, but didn't have anything else to say. Instead, he jumped down the last of the stairs, running into the entrance hall. Mrs. Black's portrait was showing, the curtains that normally hid her were flailing about. Harry ran and seized them roughly, attempting to pull them over the woman, whose skin was a putrid yellow color, and whose eyes were bulging. With difficulty, Harry managed to wrench the curtains around the giant painting and Mrs. Black's shrieks finally died away. Harry stood where he was, panting, still grasping the ends of the curtains when he heard a voice.

"Harry?"

He turned and found the friendliest face he'd seen in almost two months. Remus Lupin stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking immensely tired and care-worn. His graying hair caught the remains of light from outside, but it made the shadows on his face darker. His shabby clothing hung loosely on him and he looked as if he hadn't had a decent meal in several days.

"What are you doing here?" Lupin whispered. "Why aren't you at Molly's?"

"What're you doing here?" Harry returned the question, his voice lowered.

"Last I checked, this place was still Headquarters." said Lupin, looking slightly hurt at the less-than-friendly greeting from Harry.

"Oh-- yeah… sorry." mumbled Harry. "I forgot-- I thought-- since Dumbledore died and all--"

"We have a new Secret Keeper." whispered Lupin. "Arthur Weasley."

"Oh." said Harry. "Then how did I get in?"

"Probably two reasons," said Lupin, taking Harry by the shoulder and guiding him into the kitchen so they could talk in normal tones without waking Mrs. Black. "One--" said Lupin once the kitchen door had closed behind them, "-- when we transferred the information from Dumbledore to Arthur, we kept several of the Secret Keeper's contacts. I don't know if you were among them, but if you weren't--" he sat Harry down and went to the cupboard to take out teacups, He tapped a teapot with his wand and it instantly filled with steaming tea, "--this house is yours anyway. I don't know if that has anything to do with Secret Keeping or Sirius's will that you'd be allowed in without the Secret Keeper's consent."

"Right," said Harry, accepting the cup of tea. He took a sip and it instantly warmed his insides.

"So now, for my question." said Lupin, sitting across from Harry and drinking from his own chipped cup. "Why aren't you with Ron?" his voice became worried and stern, "What's happened?"

"Haven't you heard?" Harry asked, immensely surprised. He thought word would have gotten out about the Dark Mark over Mrs. Figg's house in several hours.

"I haven't heard from anyone. Molly and Arthur are busy preparing for Bill's wedding, Nymphadora is off spying for the Order, Kingsly and Charlie are somewhere in Portugal now, trying to convert more people to join the Order and McGonagall is overseeing the reconstruction of Hogwarts. I'm quite alone here."

"Oh." said Harry. And he told Lupin about everything, from the Death Eaters to the Dark Mark, to Mrs. Figg. By the time he finished, the sky had gone very dark and if it weren't for the howling wind causing the house to creak, they couldn't tell a snowstorm was raging outside.

"So I Apparated here, because it was the only place I could think to go." Harry finished, swirling the dregs of his tea with his index finger.

"You Apparated here? You don't have a license." said Lupin sternly.

"I realized that." said Harry sardonically "I was freezing and lost. What would you have done?"

"Never mind that. So you don't know who the Death Eater was?"

"I didn't get a chance to find out." said Harry. "He Dissaparated before I could stun him."

"'He'? You're sure it was a 'he'?"

Harry laughed quietly.

"You sound just like Hermione." he said. "Yeah, I'm positive it was a 'he'. His voice was deeper than a girls' voice would be."

"I wonder if the Ministry's caught wind of this yet." said Lupin darkly, looking out the gloomy window.

"Probably," said Harry, looking out the window as well, "but for now, I'm not sure what to do. I mean, I'm of age now, so--"

"That reminds me," said Lupin, pulling his wand out of his robe pocket. "Accio!"

There was silence for a few seconds until Harry heard something zooming through the air. The kitchen door burst open on its own accord and a long, thin parcel, wrapped in brown paper flew to the table and landed neatly in front of Harry.

"Happy Birthday." said Lupin simply.

Harry hesitated for a moment and with a quizzical look at Lupin, he began to unwrap the package. Underneath the paper was a narrow box, decorated with blue velvet and tassels hanging from the corners. His fingers shaking, Harry pulled the lid off the box. Inside, sitting atop a dusty red cushion was a rather battered and old-looking wand.

"Er-- thanks." said Harry politely. He held back the temptation to point out to Lupin that he already had a wand and was too fond of it to switch over to another.

"Do you know what that wand is?"

"No." said Harry honestly, staring at the wand.

"Mahogany. Eleven inches. Unicorn hair."

"Sorry-- no." said Harry, trying to rack his brain for any memory of ever hearing about this particular wand. It did seem somewhat familiar.

"This wand, Harry," said Lupin, bending his head down and peering at Harry from under his eyebrows, "belonged to your father."

"Dad?" gasped Harry, his eyes widening. "This-- this was Dad's?"

The memory came back to him.

"Ollivander told me about this wand on my eleventh birthday! When I was in his shop!"

"I would assume he did." said Lupin, smiling slightly. "He always went on about his old customers' wands to their offspring. I got a full eight minutes of a lecture about my mum's wand."

Harry stared down at the wand again, his mind feeling strangely detached from his body. His father's. This had been his father's wand. While part of him was curious about the wand's history, another part of him felt very somber. This very wand had been in his father's hand when he died-- died trying to protect his wife and son from Lord Voldemort…

"Harry?" asked Lupin.

Harry came to, looking up at Lupin. He forced a smile and took the wand out of it's box, holding it in his hand.

"Thanks, Professor." said Harry, giving the wand a little flick and the table was showered with several gold sparks.

"You're quite welcome, Harry." said Lupin, brushing the sparks off onto the floor with the back of his hand looking both amused and sad.

"How did you get it? How did you know where to look?"

Lupin surveyed Harry interestedly.

"I didn't have to look, actually. It came to me."

"How?" Harry asked, setting the wand carefully back into it's velvet box and closing the lid.

"I got it the day after James and Lily died, actually." said Lupin thoughtfully. "The Magical Department of Recuperation Committee found it when they tried to clean up the wreckage. By that time, Peter was supposedly dead and Sirius was in Azkaban. I was the last of James' close friends, so they brought it to me, explaining what had happened…." Lupin trailed off, his voice cracking slightly. He looked down at his hands resting on the table and cleared his throat uncomfortably. Harry waited for him to speak, but he remained silent.

"Tried?" Harry croaked, breaking the silence. "Er-- tried to clean up the wreckage?"

Lupin looked back up and nodded.

"You see, Harry, the strange thing about that house is that not everyone was allowed in."

"Well I know that. Sirius and Pettigrew were my mum and dad's Secret Keepers, weren't they?"

"It's not that." Lupin shook his head patiently. "The only one that actually made it into your parent's yard was Hagrid when he went to retrieve you for Dumbledore."

"So?"

"Anyone else who tried to even step on the grass was flung backward and out of sight. No one could get in-- except Hagrid."

"W-what made him so different?" asked Harry.

"I have two theories of how he may have managed it." said Lupin. "I think he had a sort of… protection from Dumbledore placed upon him, allowing him to enter through the curse. I also have reason to believe that Hagrid's giant magic helped him. Giants are powerful creatures, you know. I think that had something to do with it. Both powers combined created a power strong enough to break through Voldemort's curse on the house. And Dumbledore desperately wanted to retrieve you because he'd heard from a neighbor that they had heard you crying inside. And that's where Hagrid found you, still wrapped in Lily's arms."

"So-- so how'd the Department of Recuperation get to my dad's wand?" asked Harry, his heart wrenching and his insides twisting at the mental image of himself at one year old, hiding, terrified, in the folds of his dead mother's arms.

"I'm not entirely sure. I didn't think to ask them, because at that point, they didn't know about the curses, I'm supposing. So my biggest guess is that it somehow rolled off the property. No one's been on that property since Hagrid. Not once in sixteen years."

Harry stared hard at the box containing his dad's wand. He couldn't think of anymore burning questions to ask Lupin.

"I-- erm-- hadn't really expected to give this great long speech on the subject," said Lupin, somehow understanding what Harry couldn't say. Harry looked up at his father's old friend; one of the Marauders.

"Thanks, though. No-- really-- it means a lot-- er… thanks." said Harry, catching the look on Lupin's face.

"Tea?" asked Lupin once he noticed Harry's empty teacup.

"No." said Harry, standing up and taking the blue box and putting into his pocket. "I'm actually really tired. I-- I think I'll go to bed."

"Alright, then." answered Lupin, standing up as well and waving his wand. The teacups disappeared and the teapot zoomed into the sink and began to clean itself.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry was sitting on the edge of his bed in his and Ron's room, staring blankly at the wall opposite of him. Clasped in his hands was his father's wand. His mind raced as he listened to Lupin's footsteps from the room above, images flashing before his eyes of his parents' deaths. His back ached from his night-long broomstick ride and his chest throbbed. But Harry could think of nothing other than his parents. Though the wand brought back painful images and memories, Harry was thankful to Lupin for giving it to him. He supposed it took a lot to give away the only memory he had of his friend.

Once again, Harry's hand clamped over the fake Horcrux. For some reason, he felt a burning desire to leave Grimmauld Place and travel to Godric's Hollow alone. But something held him back-- the weather, for one; Harry didn't think he could face flying through the snow for a second night in a row-- but also that he felt closer to Ron and Hermione than he had in a long time and Harry felt he owed it to them to respect their wishes and allow them to join him on his journey if they still wished it.

Harry lay back on his bed, dressed in the same clothes from nearly two days ago, and gazed at the dark ceiling. After what felt like forever, he finally succumbed to a long-needed sleep, his even breaths matching with Phineas'.

OoOoOoO

So there you have it. Harry's safe. Hooray! I hope you all enjoyed the chapter and hopefully I'll have another one up soon. Until then, stay safe and sober!

The usual drill-- if you're interested in staffing my C2, I'm Just Wild About Harry, give me a ring. And if you think your friends might be interested, send them my way! They don't have to read my story to be part of the staff! They just need a bit of experience in the C2 area. And a hearty welcome to my two new staff members uknowho and drgn prncss!

May broomsticks be in your dreams!

Luv,

Legolas-gurl88

LG

Next chapter: Harry returns to the Burrow.