DISCLAIMER: THE BOOK BELONGS TO J. I HAVE ONLY BORROWED BOTH CHARACTERS AND PLOTLINE.
CHAPTER 55
He was gripping the hilt of a long and deadly black sword; its razor sharp tip was placed directly over the heart of a masked person in front of him. He felt a cold, unfeeling rage seep from within the depths of his soul, consuming him completely.
Without the least bit of hesitation, he tightened his grasp on the weapon and drove the sword deep into the person's heart and watched dispassionately as his breath hitched, letting him fall unmoving to the floor. He wiped of the blood that had splattered over his face disdainfully and walked away from the scene, stepping over the corpse without a backward glance.
Harry woke up wiping his face furiously, almost scratching it in desperation as if to wipe off the blood stains from it, slowly becoming more aware of his surroundings, he realized he was in his room in the manor and that it had been only a nightmare.
Trying to regulate his breathing he pushed the covers away as if unable to bear its stifling warmth and walked to the bathroom to stand facing the mirror. "You still look un-well dearie" the mirror said while Harry ignored it and splashed cold water over his face, waking him up effectively.
Taking a hand towel he wiped off the water and looked back at his reflection, he had grown taller and was almost as tall his father now. Everyone in his family had exclaimed over his looks when he had met them in the station and he swore that he saw Hermione blush when she shook his hand, it had seriously embarrassed the hell out him.
Coming home had made him very happy, he realized he had missed Darren a lot and even though they had never been too close they had never been separated for long periods of time before either. When he had entered his house he found himself being dragged up to his room by his brother who was closely followed by Ron and Hermione who were both staying in their house.
After trying to extract as much information as they could get out of him about beauxbaton's school, with Harry secretly marveling at the extent of his own lies, Darren said he had something to say to him.
"Harry, remember the letters I sent you while you were at school, when I said things were changing? Well my decision hasn't been altered, and I still think that you have a right to know about it too as much as we do."
Harry clenched his teeth knowing what was to come, he waited for Darren to show him his vulnerability, his fear, his anger and maybe even forced courage, but what he saw made him-self feel all of those emotions instead, and not the other way around.
"I was lost Harry, when I was told that Voldemort was alive and coming for me, at first I wanted to run and hide but then I started training with these two" he said, gesturing towards Ron and Hermione, exchanging looks that made Harry feel like an outsider, "and slowly learning to defend myself I overcame the fear and started feel more confident, I started to think if I had destroyed him once, how hard could it be to do it again?"
Harry dumbly nodded, noting the confidence in his mannerisms, the complete faith in his own power and the way that he seemed to think of his friends as his greatest support and vice versa, it was as if they had melded to become a single unit.
Harry was happy that Darren was no longer afraid, but he recognized something else in him that they had been repeatedly warned about in the Defense Academy, a warrior's greatest downfall, the idea that they were untouchable; the confidence that slowly became over-confidence.
Trying to squelch down this foreboding sensation, he smiled and gasped at all the right times while listening, looking at the three of them as if from a faraway place.
"Don't worry Harry I promise to always protect you, I know you must find all of this difficult to take in, but just give it time, yeah? I know you hate fighting and that you'd rather stay safe, I understand that feeling completely. But what the Wizarding world expects from me, I think I'm finally ready to face it now."
Harry tried to ignore the slight condescending tone in his voice, and instead focused on his good intentions. Yes, Darren still thought of him as a child, and wanted to look after him, he just hoped feverently that that would never happen and that Darren would instead stay focused on protecting his own derriere.
What his brother said about Harry not wanting to fight however, had struck a chord deep within him, his nightmares of killing people in cold blood had started during the fight with Toby and gang. He couldn't forget the power that he'd felt when Darren had been insulted, it almost overtook his mind completely and when he had been jarred back to reality by Draco he couldn't help trying to cover up the shame and fright. His spirit to fight had been shaken up badly and had him shunning the idea of taking up arms. Thinking about it now he lost track of the conversation and had had to be shaken up to be drawn out of his reverie.
It was strange but after the conversation, Harry had started to battle with some kind of depression, he knew that Darren was on a high right now, drunk with the discovery of his power, but he had made Harry feel a bit useless unknowingly and the unintended exclusion from the trio strengthened the absurd feeling of loneliness that threatened to overwhelm him.
Harry started to feel all that training he had undergone to protect him was an utter waste and that his brother had never needed him at all. It made him feel hollow, fully knowing it was partly his fault as well that his brother had never turned to him for help at all.
He knew a small part of him was jealous of his friends, but more than that he had remembered the vileness of Voldemort and his followers and wondered how long it would be before his brother's new-found confidence was shattered or worse had overtaken him to the point that he would reject Harry's help completely.
He wanted to speak to Draco, thinking that maybe he'd understand, but unfortunately for him Draco had gone to France again and Harry wondered if it was because his father was starting to get nervous again.
oooooooooooooooooooooooo
Of all the bad luck Harry had fallen sick, from food poisoning right during the Quidditch World Cup and had been unable to go for it. He had listened to the play by play account of it on the radio wishing he was standing amongst the crowd cheering the players on.
After the match he had crawled back into bed falling asleep immediately but was suddenly woken up again hours later to loud voices, shouting and arguing. Pushing himself up, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and went to living room to welcome his family back when he saw his dad looking pale, with dried blood caked on his face, lying on the sofa with his head on his mum's lap. She also looked tired, worried and couldn't seem to remove her gaze from her husband.
Harry ran into the room and knelt down beside his father peering at him, "Wha…what happened?" he asked largely to the room in general, where the Weasley's and Hermione were also sitting.
Nobody answered him so he turned to them once again and asked the same question.
"I'll tell you upstairs Harry, come" Darren said looking grim.
Harry nodded and got up, he took one look at his father's resting form and placed his hand in his older, more callused ones and squeezed it, suddenly his mind clouded over and he saw flashes of a huge green poisonous looking skull cover a dark cloudy sky, beckoning him with a forked tongue that flickered while protruding from its mouth, and he almost felt some kind of deep connection to it.
Shuddered from the evil that emanated from it, he forced him-self to come back to his senses. When he opened his eyes he noticed that no one had been looking at him and felt relief, what on earth had he just seen and felt?
Climbing up to Darren's room and sitting with his brother and his friends, they narrated the horror that had taken place after the match. They had been openly attacked by a group of masked death eaters and one of them had shot Voldemort's symbol up into sky, creating a stampede of very afraid wizards and witches.
Darren pulled out a photograph from his pocket that he had taken with Harry's camera and showed it to him. Gasping, Harry found himself looking at the very same skull that he had seen when he had touched his dad's hand, he threw the photo away as if he had been burned by its touch, all the while hiding his conflicting emotions from the others.
He had not imagined the connection he had felt downstairs towards this symbol, no he felt as if he should have known about it all along and had only temporarily forgotten about it!
