*~* I've been reading some really terrific fanfiction lately, so hopefully some of your writing has rubbed up on me…I don't know how to explain this chapter, really, so read on and find out for yourself J *~*
November landed with a soft thud against the thick, wet grass. It was early evening in this place, and from the heavy scent the air carried it had just rained. Her arms were splattered with mud and bits of wet grass, and her elbows ached in quiet protest at having been used to break her fall. A dull pain in her knees told her she had scraped those as well. But these were minor bumps and bruises, and she quickly scrambled to her feet. She shook her hair in the light breeze, trying to regain her breath after the stomach-churning Apparation she had just performed. The evening sky was beautiful, but her thoughts were too preoccupied for her to notice anything more.
"Harry?" she called out tentatively into the twilight. "Harry, where are you?" Clearly she had been the first to arrive. She wasn't alone for long. A heavy wind brushed past her cheek, and in moments a very distraught Harry appeared beside her. He seemed almost to trip on himself, landing face-first in the wet mud as she had. Ordinarily she would have chuckled lightly from amusement, having done the same thing moments ago, but she was too frightened and filled with worry to do anything of the sort. Instead, she put her arms around his waist and gently helped him to his feet. He thanked her.
Harry and November's "secret spot" was a place off the coast of Spain that the Order of the Phoenix had set up for them. It was well known to all in the wizarding world that Potter was a dangerous name to carry. The Potters were currently risking their very lives, which could be ended at any moment. At any given moment Voldemort could walk in their door and strike them both dead. Because of this, everyone in the Order had a spot, some little nook in the world that was known only to them. If they ever felt threatened, they were to Apparate instantly to this spot. The logic behind this was that, since no one knew of this spot save for them, there could be no betrayals, no way for a Dark wizard to attack them. November came here regularly, but Harry had only been here once or twice.
He impatiently brushed his stringy black hair out of his eyes – which, November noticed, were no longer hidden behind his glasses. He seemed to have yet to notice this.
"Em, listen to me," he said hastily, as though Voldemort could appear there in a moment's pause. "There's only one way this – this Raphael character could know so much about Voldemort's plan. He's in on it. He's got to be. It's impossible to get into the Dark Lord's inner circle now unless you've been born into it or…or you've been fighting against him with such ferocity that he wants that strength on his side." He said this with a slightly sad tone. He knew full well he was talking about himself. He paused for a beat or two, thinking on this, then returned to his fevered pace.
"Malfoy and Turner wouldn't just hand a wizard these plans on a silver platter, nor would Voldemort allow one of his right-hand men to slip away so easily or for so long. He's lying; I know he is. I believe the Age Charm part. How many times have those and Age Potions been used? It's an enormous file at the Ministry. I've seen it. But warning us? No, he's the Dark one who's been threatening us." Unbeknownst to him, he had self-consciously begun to pace about the field, his hands clutched tightly behind his back. November simply stood and watched.
"But Harry, no entiendo.* Fudge brought him over. Wouldn't Fudge have known if Raphael was really a Dark wizard?" November questioned curiously. Harry looked at her as if to say, Fudge? Are you joking?
"Mr. Fudge?" Harry asked incredulously. "He wouldn't know a Dark wizard if he came waltzing right into the Ministry and turned him into a toad. Honestly, Dumbledore should have taken that position ages ago when he had the chance." He went on pacing about the vacated area, now muttering unpleasantries about the Minister of Magic and the things he would do in his place. November, though, crossed her arms firmly across her chest and shot her husband a dirty look. She didn't much appreciate his impatient pacing about the open field. It was making her terribly anxious.
"Yes, well, I enjoy being able to sleep at night knowing my daughter is protected by the most powerful wizard who ever lived. Which, by the way, I'm still not altogether pleased with. You promised me a Secret-Keeper. One little diary entry later you're going back on your word."
"November, I remember when I was her age! I know how she feels! I understand it because I – " But before he could finish, another bright flash of light told them they were no longer alone. Fear once again gripped her heart. They were supposed to be alone. No one else knew of this area, much less any wizards that knew how to Apparate. The wind that brushed past was heavy, strong, and unbearably cold. Harry visibly shivered as it passed him, ruffling his hair into a greater entanglement than it had been before. Another loud thud and a mesh of black robes appeared on the patch of grass beside them. It took a moment before either of them recognized the figure. When she did, she gasped and gave a half-stifled cry.
"Abigail!" Harry was still squinting into the night, struggling to see without his glasses. He'd never realized before how much he'd taken those nerdish round glasses for granted before. He knew from November's cry of anguish that it was his daughter, though, and a large lump formed in his throat. It threatened to break and completely choke him, but he kept it down and forced his voice out through it.
"Who's there?" he demanded of the blurry night. A hoarse cackle broke the former silence. It chilled the air more than the wind did, and he shivered again to hear it. He loathed the sound of it. Immediately his eyes lowered to slits, his fists clenching in bitter rage. He'd heard that laugh dozens of times in his young life. The figure clothed in darkness could be none but Voldemort himself. The fact that his wife had just called out his daughter's name didn't bring him much comfort, either.
A sudden, shrill shriek broke through. "Mum! Dad! It's a trick! Please, please get out…please…Dad, he doesn't want me; he wants you – " November gave a sharp sob. Harry could see her outline reaching out into the night, reaching for their Abby. He grabbed her wrist, and she gave another cry at this. She was now trembling so fiercely it was a wonder her whole frame didn't come tumbling down.
"No, November," he said authoritatively. "You heard her. You don't belong here. He won't kill Abby if he hungers for my blood alone. You get her out of here and you get her out now." He shot a dirty look at the figure that was beginning to stand. His gentle tone dropped. "This battle has been meant for 28 years now. It's time the Phoenixes take up their crown again."
He dropped her wrist, and suddenly November knew. She had been guarding her husband against this for so many years she could no longer count them. He wanted this chance to face Voldemort face-to-face again. So much of his fighting had been behind potions and charms and other wizards of the Phoenix. He wasn't being egotistical. He just wanted the chance. She nodded, though she knew he couldn't see her in this light, and proceeded to draw her wand from her robes with a slightly steady hand.
"Abby has no place in this," Harry called out strongly. "Nor does my wife. You let them be, and you face me like the wizard you claim to be. If you must slaughter my family to get to me, then you are nothing but a coward." Again the cold, cruel laugh. November fought with herself not to drop her wand for the quivering that returned to her hand.
"Ah Potter, such an ego you have! I don't want you if I can't have Abigail as well. You don't understand, boy that you still are. The Potter line is far too powerful. If you will not fight with me, perhaps your daughter will."
"I will not!" came the broken voice of defiance. November was crying again, and Harry was on the verge of tears himself. The form from which the voice came hadn't risen to her feet as the other had. Her voice was distinctly Abby, but Harry hated to think of what Voldemort had done to get her here. After all, it took very dark magic to Apparate with someone who had yet to get his or her license. Apparating in and of itself was complicated enough. But to use it to kidnap a child required a magic darker than Harry thought Voldemort was capable of. He dove his hand into his robes. Voldemort kicked at Abby's grounded frame, and she gave a yelp from the pain. Harry could feel his heart grow red-hot.
"Quiet, girl," he hissed. "If you will not fight with me, then I will kill you as well."
"Over my dead body!" Harry snarled. Voldemort swept over, his black robes billowing in the slight wind.
"My dear boy, that's the idea." November saw this opportunity to dash over to Abby. She dropped to her knees and started to dig at the robes to find her daughter beneath. Harry could only see the two most precious people in his life there on the ground, each fighting to find the other. November was crying something about her baby being betrayed, but much more than that Harry couldn't tell. He turned to Voldemort, brandishing his wand and clutching it tightly. He didn't have to see the Dark Lord to know that he hated him more than he hated anything in his life. Loneliness, despair, heartache…none of it was as powerful as the hatred he felt for this dark wizard.
"Would you care to see what I've learned since the last time we dueled, Potter?" he said casually. He then turned around, pointed his wand at November, and shouted, "Disapparate!" Harry watched helplessly as a forest-green light fell over his wife like a net, illuminating every pale feature of her face. Abby was clawing at her and begging her not to go, but it seemed November had no choice. A look of excruciating pain came over her, and with a loud pop she was gone. Abby's head fell back against the ground and she began to cry with terror. Harry was now so angry his wand had begun to shiver. He raised it and opened to his mouth to speak, but Voldemort interrupted him.
"Yes, I do believe a duel would be the only fair way to handle this. You see, Potter? I can be fair. You have your second here. Now let me bring mine." He turned again, this time calling out to someplace behind Abby's severely injured figure. "Raphael! Come out here." Voldemort stepped back and grinned as another darkly robed wizard emerged from the distance. It was the same Raphael that Harry had met just moments ago, yet he looked nothing the same. Instead of the terrified, hurt little boy Harry had met, this one seemed dead-set on his intentions. Through the blur Harry could see that his eyes were somewhat glazed over, and his gait seemed a bit awkward. The Imperius Curse, he thought, his eyes widening unintentionally with realization. Of course. He's under the Imperius Curse. He hasn't betrayed Abby. He's been on our side all along! Guilt throbbed in his throat.
"Raphael has tried to leave me. For years he thought he'd succeeded. What he failed to realize was that Lord Voldemort knows all. This is the perfect opportunity to punish him for his actions. You see, Potter, just as your parents were betrayed, so was your poor daughter." Voldemort's attention went to Raphael, who was standing obediently beside Abby awaiting orders. Harry knew now that he had more people to fight for than he'd thought. He had to fight for November, for Abby, for the Order, for Raphael. He had to fight for Phoenix wizards everywhere. There was something very strengthening about this thought.
"You get rid of the girl. I have awaited this battle for far too long."
* no entiendo: I don't understand