Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters, places, and things belong to J.K. Rowling. She was not involved in the making of this fan fiction, but some . . . actually rather a lot of text in this piece of fan fiction has been directly quoted from her books.
Author's Note: Deathly Hallows release kicked muses and motivation into high gear. Also a rare occasion took place, and the primary and secondary authors actually had free time that coincided with each other. That's why there's a double post.
Also PDF and (broken) EPUB formats for this story are now online, for anyone interested. Check the author profile for the link. We were thinking about having chapter cover art but . . . drawing is harddddd. :(
"Degradation" is the collective noun for a group of Dementors, if you didn't catch that from an earlier chapter.
Also, a later chapter is in danger of increasing the rating of this story from T to M, because of gore. Considering writing a T-friendly version and a separate M version, but we shall see.
Harry Potter and the Sins of the Founders: Part I
Chapter Eight
"The Heart of Darkness"
22 November 2010
FanFictionDotNet Edit
Serving YOU in your time of need – SUPPORT YOUR MINISTRY
– Text from a Ministry of Magic flyer, c. 1996.
The morning of 1 September was cold and dreary. There was no break in the blanket of clouds as the driver of the shiny black Ministry vehicle careened down the highway towards London. Harry sat scrunched between Ron and two large school trunks, the magical enchantments of the car's backseat struggling to hold them all in. Bill and Mr. Weasley shared the front passenger seat, which also stretched itself out to accommodate them.
In his lap, Harry held Hedwig's cage. She had spent the first ten minutes of the car ride hooting shrilly in protest as a sharp turn had sent the top trunk beside Harry crashing down on the top of the cage. She had gradually grown resigned to sitting huddled quietly in her cage, occasionally shooting Harry a dirty glance.
Sorry, girl. Harry gave her what he thought to be a sympathetic look, and got a cold shoulder in return. He sighed and once again gripped the cage tightly as the driver swerved onto the median to avoid an oncoming semi.
At least you don't have to share a car with all the others.
Their exodus from the Burrow had thankfully gone without so much as a hiccup. Tonks, Hermione, Luna, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley piled into one car along with the two pygmy puffs, Crookshanks, Pigwidgeon, and Luna's trunk.
Fleur was initially distraught over the fact that she had a shift to cover at Gringotts that day – a fact that pleased Ginny and Mrs. Weasley to no end. She was placated by Tonks, who promised to take her out for a night on the town later on, but not before giving Harry and Ron each a parting kiss on each cheek.
It was probably the shock that kept Ron staring into space for the majority of the trip.
When they arrived at King's Cross, Harry opened the car door and stepped into the same gloomy atmosphere that he had witnessed one month ago in Diagon Alley. What struck him as significant was the fact that they were still on the Muggle side of the station, and yet, as he stood between the two lanes of pedestrian traffic, everyone who passed him by carried the same demeanor, as though if they could simply hunch over far enough, they would manage to isolate themselves completely.
A Muggle woman simply drew her collar closer about her face as she passed an equally glum witch carrying an owl cage in one arm and a cauldron in the other.
Without a word, Bill passed them a trolley and Harry and Ron hauled their trunks out of the car.
Mr. Weasley kept a firm hand on Harry's shoulder as they stepped through the barrier.
Emerging on the other side, Harry was now unsurprised to find it looking almost exactly the same as the Muggle side, only with Ministry bulletins instead of advertisements plastered on the walls. He trod a loose poster underfoot, and stopped to pick it up out of curiosity.
It was a man, divided in two, grimacing back up at him. His right side gave the appearance of a businessman in everyday robes; the left side of his face and body were covered in a Death Eater's mask and cloak. At the bottom of the poster in small block letters was the text: YOU NEVER KNOW.
The scarlet train sat imposingly at its long berth like an iron leviathan. At the conductor's compartment, Harry could see a wizard in a trim scarlet boilersuit conversing with a tall, pale-skinned wizard wearing jet black robes with a blue trim. He recognized those robes – they were the same as the robes Tonks was wearing at that moment, over her duelist's gear.
The Auror – for Harry was sure that it must be an Auror's uniform he was wearing – held a broomstick loosely in his right hand as he spoke with the conductor. On either side of the pair, there were a witch and a wizard in everyday drab robes, also carrying brooms.
Tonks, Mrs. Weasley and Ginny brought up the rear through the barrier, and the group started across the platform towards the waiting train. It didn't take Harry very long to notice that their progress went unhindered, as people moved to the side upon recognizing who they were. Harry groaned inwardly.
Not this again . . .
Before long, he was being embraced by Mrs. Weasley.
"Now, you have a good term – and at least try to stay out of trouble, won't you?"
"You're welcome back over Christmas, of course," said Mr. Weasley, shaking his hand. Harry nodded, and forced a smile onto his face.
"Hey, Harry, just a moment –" Bill Weasley had taken his arm and drawn him to the side. "Just wanted you to know, I'm supposed to be working with Dumbledore later on, so I'll probably be dropping by the Castle once in a while."
This piqued Harry's interest.
"What's he got you working on?" he asked, but Bill shook his head and glanced around quickly as though to indicate 'not here'.
"I just wanted to let you know, if you need anything, just send me an owl and I'll see what I can do."
Harry nodded his thanks for the gesture, and they returned to the departing goodbyes.
Tonks embraced Harry tightly with a similar promise that she'd be seeing him later that term, but remained equally mum regarding the circumstances. Harry noticed her glancing around surreptitiously and his predictions came true when she, too, drew him aside for a moment.
"Remember when we talked on the roof?" she asked in a low whisper.
"Yeah," said Harry, nodding.
"Sorry we never got to follow up, hey?" she said, wincing slightly. "It's just been . . . a busy month."
"Oh," said Harry, remembering that she'd wanted to continue their conversation from before. He certainly believed her – her lack of sleep was quite apparent from the bags under her eyes, and Harry had seen less and less of her around the Burrow every day until she just stopped coming altogether. He patted her on the shoulder, because it seemed like she needed it. "It's no problem, and there'll be other times."
She gave him a wry smile, and for a second he thought that she didn't believe that in the slightest.
"You'll remember what we talked about?" she asked earnestly.
Harry scanned his memory briefly. They'd talked about guilt, blame, killing, war, and he'd asked her about –
"Dumbledore's lessons?"
The train's whistle blew.
"I'm not saying you shouldn't listen to what he has to say, you know," she said quickly, "Just take it with a grain of salt."
Mrs. Weasley was waving frantically for him to get on the train.
"Oh, who am I fooling?" she said, covering her face with her palm, "at least promise you'll be careful."
"I will, Tonks, thanks!" said Harry, pulling away. They exchanged a wave, and he sprinted up to the door and grabbed onto the railing as the Hogwarts Express began to move. He almost fell off backwards, but Ron was there, apparently just having hauled both their trunks aboard, and he grabbed Harry by the collar and heaved him onto the train.
He remained in the passageway to watch the platform disappear out of sight. As the platform grew smaller, three figures on broomsticks grew larger. The Auror in uniform was apparently the train's escort, along with his two companions.
Then, remembering something, he turned back around.
"Ron, aren't you supposed to be with the other prefects?"
Ron's face paled slightly.
"Oh bugger, yeah," said Ron. "Well, you don't suppose being a little late would hurt that much?"
"Hermione," Harry reminded him.
"Oh, right."
They squeezed their trunks through a compartment door that Luna was holding open for them, and Ron bolted off down the narrow corridor.
Harry began lifting his trunk into the overhead racks when a voice piped up.
"Need help, Harry?"
He looked up to find Neville rising out of his seat.
"Yes, please, Neville," he replied, and together the two of them threw Ron's and Harry's trunks onto the bars. Harry opened the window and let Hedwig and Pigwidgeon out to stretch their wings, closing it tightly again once they had departed.
Luna slid the door shut and took up a seat beside the window. She sat with her legs folded on the seat, and opened the same issue of The Quibbler that she'd been reading for the past week.
"Where'd Ginny go?" asked Harry, finally noticing that it was just Neville, Luna, and himself in the compartment.
"She went to meet with Dean Thomas," said Luna, looking up at him with her protuberant eyes, "They're going out, you know."
"Er - Oh, Right. How was your summer, Neville?" asked Harry, seating himself across from Luna. Neville plonked down beside Luna, jarring Trevor the toad out of his breast pocket. Trevor attempted to hop away, but Neville managed to barely catch him by the leg midair.
"It was alright," he said, sitting back. "My family kind of freaked out when the Prophet printed that story about us. A bunch of relatives came over, and we just kinda holed up. It was like a family reunion. Some of the Clearwaters even came."
That name rang a bell, and Harry paused to think for a moment.
"You're related to Penelope Clearwater?" he asked, the switch clicking in his head.
"No, but she was there. Do you know her?"
"She was Ron's brother's girlfriend at one point, I think," replied Harry.
"We're not related, really," Neville said, shaking his head. "At least, not recently, but my Gran says that our families go way back. I think we used to be nobles, once, or something."
Harry thought about this for a minute, but The Noble and Most Ancient House of Longbottom just didn't have quite the same ring to it.
"Say, Harry," began Neville after a moment. "Are we doing the D.A. again this year?"
Harry was a bit taken aback.
"Isn't everyone doing the accelerated Defense course this year?"
"Only upperclassmen," Luna reminded him sadly.
"Yeah, and I learned loads more with you than with any of our professors," said Neville, sounding a bit disheartened.
Harry squirmed a bit. He'd been planning to focus more on his own studies this year – there was the accelerated Defense course, and whatever Dumbledore had in store for him, and of course there was always Quidditch to consider now that Umbridge was gone.
"We'll see," he said tentatively.
They rode in silence for a while, and outside, though it could be scarcely noon, the sky darkened even further. Eventually, a unexpected blur passed by their compartment window and dropped back towards the rear of the train. Harry leaned onto the sill to catch a glimpse, and saw the Auror loosely flanked by his two companions, hovering alongside the second to last car.
"There's a lot of Aurors about nowadays," mused Harry, absentmindedly.
"Not really," said Neville, which brought Harry back to attention.
"How d'you mean?" he asked curiously. He'd certainly seen more Aurors in the past two months than he'd ever seen in his life.
"Well, I overheard one of Gran's friends when he came to visit," said Neville, nervousness for some reason seeping into his voice. "Gran used to work with the Old Aurors, you see, from before they were reformed. He said that it's just a trick to buy time. He said that the Aurors have been undercover for so long that You-Know-Who doesn't know how many of them there REALLY are, so someone reckoned that if they suddenly started appearing everywhere, it would make him stop and think long enough to get other defenses up."
The three figures on broomsticks began inching back up alongside the train.
"It's really just the same handful, though," said Neville, now looking out the window. Trevor took advantage of the distraction and wriggled free of Neville's hands, but he didn't seem to notice. "They've just been wearing their service uniforms – those nice robes – to draw attention. Gran says my mum and dad never wore theirs. They just framed 'em and hung them up on a wall."
"Sorry, but won't Voldemort notice eventually? I mean, he's not exactly stupid," said Harry skeptically. It took a moment for him to realize that they had certainly had him fooled, but Neville sighed.
"That's what Gran said. She reckons they should've just stayed undercover."
"How many of them are there?" Harry asked.
"Dunno," said Neville, "but Gran's friend sounded really worried. He made it sound like there were hardly any at all."
"That's Fudge's fault," came Luna's voice from behind The Quibbler. The boys looked at her, and Harry could sense what was coming. "There used to be a whole fortress of them right in the middle of London, and Fudge caught wind that they were hoarding treasure there, so –"
But whatever Fudge had planned for the rogue Auror treasure-hunters, Harry never found out. Luna's breath caught in her throat. Harry looked over at her, but he was robbed of his own breath. He suddenly felt cold, cold, cold. Daggers of ice were piercing his skin. Ice water was trickling, between his fingernails, up his spine, and a familiar, faraway dull ache began to pound in the scar on his forehead, coming closer and closer.
"Dementors!" cried Neville.
At that moment, a black figure sped right by the window. Harry looked outside. A small degradation of Dementors was circling and looping through the air nearby. One or two probing creatures swooped here and there, away from the main group.
The Auror and his companions tightened their formation and moved protectively between the degradation and the train. One of the adventurous Dementors dipped close to the train, and the Auror brandished his wand as if cracking a whip, in warning. The Dementor recoiled as though stung, and drifted slightly away, but the rest of the degradation had caught on to the scent, and now a steady stream of black-robed creatures was flying parallel to the tracks.
Harry felt the train tilt subtly to one side. They were entering a wide half-circle around a shallow valley, but this path would now intersect with that of the Dementors. They made their move in a sudden dive towards the train. The three protectors were forced to dodge them, and several of the cloaked figures actually thudded audibly against the roof of the train. The move, however, was effective.
The Auror and his wizard companion had dodged forward, speeding their broomsticks along the path of the train. The Auror had a Patronus out, and was directing it with his wand – what appeared to be a large cave bear. It was thundering along in the air towards the front of the train, chasing after a group of Dementors that had made for the break in between the second and third cars.
The witch companion was about to be devoured alive.
She had avoided the degradation's attack by braking and swerving off of the tracks. It was a Quidditch maneuver that Harry recognized, and it should have worked after she looped around twice in two unpredictable circles. However, a full third of the Dementors had broken off with her, and were now surrounding the witch in midair. They swooped and dove around her as she swerved this way and that on her broom, trying to find an opening. The half-circle in the train tracks had brought her into clear view from their compartment, and Harry could barely make out a thin whisp of silver coming from her wand, growing fainter by the second.
"What –" began Neville, rising out of his seat.
"NO!" shouted Harry, realizing just how much peril the witch faced at that moment, and jumping to his feet. He and Neville wrestled the window of the compartment open. Harry dug his wand out of his jeans, pointed it across the valley, and shouted,
"Expecto patronum!"
Nothing happened. No one spoke, and the train rolled right along on its tracks.
Recovering quickly, he tried again.
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"
This time, Harry felt it – but not the release of the spell. More like a sticky resistance; a reluctance to obey.
Come on, please go! he pleaded furiously with the nothingness. Save her! I know you can do it! You've done it before!
Into his imagination, he poured every single thought he could muster of Ron and Hermione; their touch, their scent, and their cheery laughter. Finally, at long last, whatever resistance there had been crumbled, and a brilliant silver stag leapt from his wand and charged across the valley. He watched it go with an intense feeling of relief.
Then he found himself face-to-face with a gigantic black-cloaked figure, with a hideous circular mouth thronged with hundreds of teeth. The largest, darkest, and most foul Dementor he had ever witnessed. He knew instantly two truths: that this was the heart of the degradation, and that he was utterly defeated.
Harry dimly noticed, out of the corner of his mind, that he had fallen to his knees on the floor of the compartment. The world had gone oddly quiet. His wand fell out of his hand, lost to him. The Dementor was leaning into the open window of the train as it sped along, its terrified passengers oblivious to the fate of one Harry Potter.
He had lost. His magic had failed him. He would not even save this one life. His Patronus would not make it to the beleaguered witch in time, and she would be consumed. He, Harry, would die here, and his body would be left soulless and rotten. The best laid plans of mice and men would crumble before the might of Lord Voldemort.
Ron, eventually, would fall in a futile battle, surrounded by the bodies of the students he had sworn to protect. He saw the life extinguished from his best friend's eyes as Death Eaters moved in all around him. Luna Lovegood's hand closed over the pommel of a bone knife, and as she turned to defend his body, she was struck down from behind, with a look of total disbelief so alien to her face.
He saw Hermione, blood shining in her hair as it whipped about her. One moment, her face grit with pain and concentration – the next, her eyes wide open in surprise. She gazed down to see several claws protruding from her midsection. She looked back up. Through teary eyes, she tried to say something to him, but her jaw simply twitched, and blood ran down from the corner of her mouth. She fell to her knees, and the creature standing behind her retracted its clawed hand from her stomach.
As Harry knelt, his body falling slack, slumping backwards onto his heels, with the veritable King of Dementors arching over him, he became aware of a small pressure on his chest.
He looked down to find what appeared to be a snowy hare perched on the front of his shirt. Its fur was silky and glowing, its ears erect. It stood on top of his sternum, defying the great blackness that threatened to swallow him up.
The Dementor made a move as though coiling itself like a spring, in order to strike down the glowing white hare, and Harry along with it. But before it could do anything more, the hare took a flying leap off of Harry's chest.
Abruptly, sound and color returned to the world. The roar of the wind rushing past the open window and the clanging of the train against the tracks were deafening. The Dementor had fled the window, and the rest of the degradation was retreating along with it away from the train, with the glowing white hare hot on its tail.
Harry tried to move, and found he couldn't. Two pairs of hands grabbed him under the arms and hauled him onto a seat. The world was awfully noisy now that sound was back, but none of it made sense. He thought could distinguish words amidst muffled haze, and he tried to reply, but his own voice felt thick as though his tongue were weighed down with lead. The sounds started to surge in really close, and then fade out to a great distance.
Then it got really confusing, because his vision began to cut in and out as well. What made it even worse that it wasn't even in sync with the rising and falling of the sounds.
The compartment door rattled noisily open, and he was aware of more voices, before the sound flew away again. He thought someone was shaking him – either that or his head was lolling from one side to another of its own accord. He wished it would stop. He was getting dreadfully dizzy. More voices, this time really, really loud.
His vision cut back in for a second, and he thought he could distinguish several blurs. Something rammed into his teeth. It hurt. There were more voices for a second before his vision AND his hearing went out at the same time.
Then he felt something warm and soothing trickling along the inside of his mouth. It was sweet and comforting and the moment it hit the back of his throat, warmth suddenly shot through his body, right to his very fingertips. The world came spinning back into focus, and the fuzziness around his ears solidified, cracked, and fell away. The clarity of the sound felt almost sterile.
His vision was promptly filled with a scene more confusing than the blurs had been. Neville was backed into a corner, drenched in sweat, and for once Trevor the toad had elected to hide voluntarily in his master's breast pocket. Ron Weasley stood against the far wall, looking far better than Neville, but still as pale as a ghost, and nervously fiddling with not one, but three wands.
What made even less sense was the scene off to his right, where the compartment door had slid off its hinges at an odd angle. The food trolley, of all things, was jammed awkwardly into the open doorway, and sweets had spilled everywhere onto the floor. The plump witch whose job it was to travel the corridor selling snacks was standing behind it with her hands clapped to her mouth.
And finally, there was Hermione. She was half standing over him, half kneeling on him, with her right knee jammed painfully into his thigh. In her left hand, she held her wand. Her right hand was covered in a dripping mass of melted chocolate and tin foil.
He could have sworn he was going to die from irony, when he noticed that the only normal thing in the entire scene was Luna Lovegood, sitting across from them, patiently watching him take it all in.
"Harry?" asked Hermione tentatively, after a second had passed.
"Hermione," he said, "ow."
"OH, sorry!" She backed away, removing her knee from his thigh, and he could feel blood rushing down into his leg.
"H-how are you feeling, mate?" asked Ron, still fiddling with the wands.
Harry tried really hard to figure out a response to that question.
"You remember second year, with your dad's Ford Anglia?"
"Yeah?"
"You remember how we flew it into the Whomping Willow and it got trashed?"
"How could I forget?"
"I feel like the handle on the passenger-side door."
"Ouch."
Harry groaned and put his head in his hands.
"What happened?" he asked, finally looking back up at them.
"You were almost kissed, by the biggest bloody Dementor I've ever seen," said Neville, his voice still shaky, "I thought you were dead for sure. Then Luna somehow got it together and managed to get her Patronus off, and it chased it back out the window."
"Then we came," said Ron, indicating himself and Hermione, "as fast as we could, because we saw it from another car while we were patrolling, and figured something really bad went down."
"You were just sitting there with your mouth hanging open and you were sort-of talking and not making any sense, like you'd gone completely nutters," continued Neville. "And then Hermione had enough sense to run to get some chocolate –" He indicated the food cart, which the portly witch was trying to free from the doorway. It remained resolutely stuck.
"And I tried giving you the chocolate, but you just weren't having it," said Hermione, "So I had to melt it and, well, here we are . . ." she gestured with the hand that was covered in the now fully melted mess.
Harry paused again to take all this in as well. After he felt as though he'd made some progress, he looked back at Ron.
"And why do you have three wands?"
"Oh, uh, here," said Ron, handing him a wand. "One's yours and one's Neville's."
Another great mystery solved.
"And why is my face wet?"
"You were crying," began Luna.
Detective Potter, they'll call me. I bet I'm still crying, actually.
"– You still are," she finished.
Damn I'm good.
He tried to dry his face on his shirt, but got a faceful of melted chocolate instead.
"Oh, Harry, here," said Hermione, and she swished her wand. "Scourgify!"
"Thanks, Hermione," he said, drying his eyes on his now clean shirt.
"Are you okay?" she asked, sitting beside him after removing the liquefied chocolate from her own hand.
"Yeah, thanks to you guys," he replied shakily.
Ron, though not having recovered his full facial color, managed to unjam the trolley from the doorway with his wand, and set about helping the witch replace the sweets. A quick reparo later, and the door was back on its hinges.
Harry found that he had trouble looking at Ron or Hermione. The images the Dementor had shown him had been the most vivid and haunting things he'd ever seen in his life. Ron falling, ever defiant, but powerless; Hermione's expression of shock as she was felled by a beast from hell.
"Harry, you're shaking. What's wrong?" asked Hermione, with a hand on his shoulder.
"The usual," he said, trying to wave his hand dismissively. "Dementor, horrible images, scar hurting, et cetera."
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked in a low voice meant for only him and Ron to hear, but Neville was staring blankly out the window in an effort to recoup, and Luna was unwrapping a bar of chocolate to share with him.
Harry shook his head. He didn't want to think about it at all. If he tried to tell them, he'd probably just vomit.
Then he realized something.
"What happened to the witch?"
"What witch?" asked Ron, having finished with the situation at the doorway.
"The witch that we tried to save from the Dementors," he clarified, turning to Neville.
Neville's eyes grew wide, and he shrugged.
"She's fine," came a deep voice from the doorway, which made them all jump. The tall Auror stood there in his midnight black robes. From this proximity, the blue trim positively glowed. There was also a set of red chevrons embroidered into the right breast of the garment, and a silver sword and shield on the left.
Harry began to rise to greet the man, but the Auror waved him down.
"Please, relax," he said soothingly. "Miss Spinnet would undoubtedly have come to thank you on her own, but she is currently recovering from her ordeal in another car."
"Spinnet? Alicia Spinnet?" asked Harry, amazed that he hadn't recognized his own Quidditch teammate.
"Yes, do you know her?" asked the Auror.
"We used to play Quidditch together," he replied.
"Yes, well, your patronus kept all of the Dementors at bay – not one of them touched her," said the man. He reached over to shake Harry's hand. "Jason Proudfoot," he said, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mister Potter."
"You too," said Harry.
"And you're the one with the hare patronus?" he asked Hermione, who shook her head.
"That would be Luna's," she said, indicating the blond Ravenclaw across from her.
Proudfoot offered her his hand as well, congratulating her on a most impressive display of magic.
The Auror left shortly to resume his patrol. The level of morale in their compartment seemed to slowly recover as the train sped away from the site of the skirmish, and conversation finally resurfaced half an hour later.
Harry could not bring himself to join in, however, until Ron brought up the subject of Malfoy –
"He wasn't at the prefects' meeting," he said conspiratorially to Harry. "We found him later, just sitting by himself in an empty compartment. Didn't even bat an eyelash when we asked him why he wasn't patrolling. Just nodded us off."
– Which only piled on top of everything else Harry was worrying about. He continued to brood even as they neared Hogwarts, and though Ron and Hermione kept sneaking looks at him, they got nothing out of him.
Around nightfall, they changed over into their school robes. Neville had somehow lost his Gryffindor badge, and Luna had to conjure him a temporary one to fasten his mantle about his shoulders.
"It shouldn't disintegrate at least until the feast is over," she said, pinning it for him.
No sooner had they disembarked from the train car at Hogsmeade Station, luggage in hand, than Professor McGonagall swooped down upon the five of them, ushering them to the first carriage in line. From the horrified looks on Ron's and Hermione's faces, Harry deduced that they could now actually see the thestrals pulling the line of carriages. Once loaded, their carriage took off towards the castle at a breakneck speed, ahead of the full crowd.
They remained seated in McGonagall's office until Madam Pomfrey bustled in to give each of them a cursory inspection. Harry had an odd sense of déjà vu as she tried to examine his eyes.
"I trust you've all at least had your chocolate," she said finally, to which the response was a chorus of "Yes, Madam Pomfrey."
It was when they finally made their way down to the Great Hall for the feast that Harry at long last breathed a sigh of relief. They had missed the Sorting. At least some things hadn't changed. He was home at last.
Have not yet decided whether the next chapter will include the feast.
About this story: Harry Potter and the Sins of the Founders and its sequel take place after Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. They are meant to be read in place of Half-Blood Prince and Deathly Hallows. If you don't like it . . . how did you even get this far anyway? Couldn't you just stop reading? Why are you even paying attention to this note?
Harry Potter and the Sins of the Founders is planned to take place in two parts, and that's not even definite. :D
Thanks for reading! Remember, nothing fuels writing abilities better than two cases of energy drinks (per author, per chapter).
