1 Deadly Secrets
Anonymous Quill
The phone rang. Harry usually never received phone calls, especially at such a late hour. Who the hell would call him, Harry Potter, slayer of Voldemort, defeater of the darkest wizard of all time?
Harry reached for the phone. He put it up to his ear tiredly, for it was 12:00 at night, or close to it.
"H-hullo," he slurred into the receiver.
Nothing. He said it five times into the phone. Finally, cursing, he slammed the phone back down. But it rang again.
"Who the hell are you?" He shouted at the reciever. This time, after a long pause, a voice, so familiar to Harry spoke back to him.
"I am surprised you do not know," it said with a menacing hissing sound. "I am back, Harry Potter." Out of fear, Harry once again slammed the phone down again. But, as soon as it disconnected, it rang again.
"STOP CALLING ME YOU BASTARD!" Harry screamed.
"Dad?" It was his son, James. "Ah, Dad? It's me, James. Is something wrong?"
"No, sorry. Some kid kept calling here. Is there something you need?" Harry sighed. He covered that one, he hoped he did at least.
"Yeah, are you sure your okay?"
"Yes."
"Well, anyway. Mom and I are on our way home. Gran says hello. We should be home shortly." That's right. Hermione and James went to see Hermione's mother. "Dad, mom wants to talk to you. Bye, see you later." Harry heard Hermione's voice in the background saying, "Give me that phone!"
"Hello honey," Harry said faintly. He was hoping that Hermione wouldn't be too mad at him for yelling at James.
"Did you just curse at James?"
"Er…yes." Harry said. Oh great, she was going to blow. "Honey listen I…"
"YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO DO THAT! AND DON'T YOU BLAME PRANK CALLERS!!!"
"Er… but…" Harry attempted to explain.
"We will talk later!" She hung up. Oh shit, he was in trouble now. He put down the phone for the third time. He was in for it, he still had about an hour. He had learned that when Hermione was mad, she was not to be crossed.
And who was that man who called him. Could it possibly be Voldemort? He was dead, as he and everyone knew and all of the Death Eaters had been long since caught.
Who was he?
Harry woke up at 6:00 the next morning to cold water being splashed on his face. Hermione was standing over him with an empty glass. Ice was everywhere on the King Sized bed.
"Hermione, it's early, can this wait?"
"No, Harry this can't wait…you sleep like a rock." She said, looking much more cheerful than she did a second ago, and definitely much more awake than he was. "Breakfast is ready. James is already up."
"What normal teenager gets up at 6:00 AM on a weekend, then again, a summer weekend?" Harry asked.
"James has Quiddich practice. And this family had NEVER been normal, Harry. With you for a father, how could he possibly be sane?"
"Ouch," Harry said, smiling up at her. "Alright, I'll be down in a minute." Hermione turned around an left the room. She hadn't change a bit since he had first met her on the train to Hogwarts. She still had bushy brown hair and was still the smartest women he had ever seen. The only things that had really changed were her teeth, which were perfectly straight now, and her age. And maybe the fact that she was his wife and the mother of his son, James.
Harry quickly got dressed, grabbed his wand and with it, cleaned up the ice that was still lying around and melting with the sun. Not wanting to make Hermione any angrier than she already was, he raced down the stairs.
The kitchen smelt wonderfully like maple syrup as he entered and sat at the table, across from James, who was now stuffing his face with pancakes.
James looked a lot like Harry did. He had the same untidy hair, and the same green eyes that had been seen in his family for three generations. Unlike Harry was at his age, he was tall, about 5'9. If Harry hadn't grown, he would have been way taller than him. But, he got his brain from Hermione. He was very smart, but not the bookworm Hermione was, which bugged Hermione. She wanted him to study all of his free time while he wanted to play Quiddich all of his time, free or not. James was a Seeker, like Harry. That also annoyed Hermione.
"That didn't take long," Hermione said at him, leaning against the counter. Behind her, the spatula was flipping golden brown pancakes onto a plate that levitated over to the table.
"And you blame me for this family not being normal," Harry replied to her earlier comment as he sat down and cocked an eyebrow at her. She blushed and smiled back at him.
"Am I missing something?" James said between bites. How could he eat so much and stay so skinny? Harry figured it was another trait James had gotten from him.
"James, you are going to be late," Hermione said, changing the subject.
"Oh, right," he said standing up quickly. He ran to the broom closet to grab his gear. Now, the broom closet was literally a broom closet. In the back, there was the Nimbus collection; on the right were the Firebolts and Windstorms. Finally, the left wall held the newer brooms such as the Tornadoes and the latest set, the Phantoms. Also, on the floor in the right corner was James and Harry's gear. In the other corner was the oak wood chest that held the game balls.
James was out in a flash with his Phantom 15 and his duffel bag full of gear.
"Bye," he said as he ran out the door. It slammed shut soon after, which, like James's obsession with Quidditch, was one of her pet peeves.
"He did it again," she sighed.
"Hermione, he isn't you, that means he isn't perfect. Besides, he's a kid." Harry replied. She loosened up and then sat across from Harry.
"He's just like you, you know," she said.
"No, he's too tall," Harry said.
"Harry's right. James is more like me!" someone said behind them. The door slammed, and Hermione jumped up.
"Ronald Weasley, how many times do I have to tell you, do not slam the door!" she snapped.
"Yes ma'am," he said sarcastically, saluting her. "Hello Harry."
"Hello Ron. You know, you could learn to knock like everyone else," Harry said, shaking his head.
"Then I'll loose the element of surprise," Ron said, beaming at Harry, while taking Hermione's place at the table. "How is everything at the Potter residence?"
"Ron, you sound so smart with those big words," Hermione said, loose again and looking quite cheerful.
"Why, thank you Hermione. I never thought I would hear you call me smart."
"Well, you are smart, Ron. If you would just use your head more often…" she started.
"…then I would be just like you. What fun would that be?" Ron finished her sentence, though Hermione was not planning on saying that.
"My life is fun," Hermione said, "What are you saying, Weasley?"
"A teacher? You call that fun, Granger?" Ron said slyly. And then it started, their routinely argument about who had the better life. Harry, getting bored easily, stared out the window. The sky was blue today, not a cloud in the sky at all. The sun was shining down on the world. He smiled.
Wait, where did all of those clouds suddenly come from, he thought to himself. His smile vanished as they instantly covered most of the sky. Odd. Harry looked at them hard. The dark clouds had formed something, a shape he had known since the Quidditch World Cup when he was about 14. His mouth dropped and his thoughts were racing. The phone call. The voice.
It was the Dark Mark. Voldemort's sign that all of his Death Eaters had branded on them, claiming them as his eternal servants.
"Harry? HARRY!?" Ron and Hermione shouted. They were staring at him, wide eyed.
"What?" He said, his gaze back out the window. It was gone. What the hell, he thought. Is Voldemort back? Could he be? Impossible.
"Is there something wrong?" Ron asked, "Wait, dumb question. What's wrong?"
"N-nothing," he stammered. He looked at Ron, who, as usual, looked puzzled. Then, his gaze shifted to Hermione, who looked fearful for him. She had no idea. And, she wouldn't, not her, not James.
"What happened?
"Nothing," he repeated. She sighed and crossed her arms. "Hermione, it's nothing."
"I hate your secrets Harry, you know that," she said crossly. "Fine, keep them. But, Harry, if you are that scared I…"
"I was NOT scared," Harry demanded.
"Harry, secrets don't make friends," Ron said, still looking puzzled. Suddenly, they heard a noise in the parlor. Hermione, walked away and soon came back.
"Someone called you through the fire, Harry," she said calmly. Shit. What if was the same person who called him, what if it was Voldemort.
Anonymous Quill
The phone rang. Harry usually never received phone calls, especially at such a late hour. Who the hell would call him, Harry Potter, slayer of Voldemort, defeater of the darkest wizard of all time?
Harry reached for the phone. He put it up to his ear tiredly, for it was 12:00 at night, or close to it.
"H-hullo," he slurred into the receiver.
Nothing. He said it five times into the phone. Finally, cursing, he slammed the phone back down. But it rang again.
"Who the hell are you?" He shouted at the reciever. This time, after a long pause, a voice, so familiar to Harry spoke back to him.
"I am surprised you do not know," it said with a menacing hissing sound. "I am back, Harry Potter." Out of fear, Harry once again slammed the phone down again. But, as soon as it disconnected, it rang again.
"STOP CALLING ME YOU BASTARD!" Harry screamed.
"Dad?" It was his son, James. "Ah, Dad? It's me, James. Is something wrong?"
"No, sorry. Some kid kept calling here. Is there something you need?" Harry sighed. He covered that one, he hoped he did at least.
"Yeah, are you sure your okay?"
"Yes."
"Well, anyway. Mom and I are on our way home. Gran says hello. We should be home shortly." That's right. Hermione and James went to see Hermione's mother. "Dad, mom wants to talk to you. Bye, see you later." Harry heard Hermione's voice in the background saying, "Give me that phone!"
"Hello honey," Harry said faintly. He was hoping that Hermione wouldn't be too mad at him for yelling at James.
"Did you just curse at James?"
"Er…yes." Harry said. Oh great, she was going to blow. "Honey listen I…"
"YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO DO THAT! AND DON'T YOU BLAME PRANK CALLERS!!!"
"Er… but…" Harry attempted to explain.
"We will talk later!" She hung up. Oh shit, he was in trouble now. He put down the phone for the third time. He was in for it, he still had about an hour. He had learned that when Hermione was mad, she was not to be crossed.
And who was that man who called him. Could it possibly be Voldemort? He was dead, as he and everyone knew and all of the Death Eaters had been long since caught.
Who was he?
Harry woke up at 6:00 the next morning to cold water being splashed on his face. Hermione was standing over him with an empty glass. Ice was everywhere on the King Sized bed.
"Hermione, it's early, can this wait?"
"No, Harry this can't wait…you sleep like a rock." She said, looking much more cheerful than she did a second ago, and definitely much more awake than he was. "Breakfast is ready. James is already up."
"What normal teenager gets up at 6:00 AM on a weekend, then again, a summer weekend?" Harry asked.
"James has Quiddich practice. And this family had NEVER been normal, Harry. With you for a father, how could he possibly be sane?"
"Ouch," Harry said, smiling up at her. "Alright, I'll be down in a minute." Hermione turned around an left the room. She hadn't change a bit since he had first met her on the train to Hogwarts. She still had bushy brown hair and was still the smartest women he had ever seen. The only things that had really changed were her teeth, which were perfectly straight now, and her age. And maybe the fact that she was his wife and the mother of his son, James.
Harry quickly got dressed, grabbed his wand and with it, cleaned up the ice that was still lying around and melting with the sun. Not wanting to make Hermione any angrier than she already was, he raced down the stairs.
The kitchen smelt wonderfully like maple syrup as he entered and sat at the table, across from James, who was now stuffing his face with pancakes.
James looked a lot like Harry did. He had the same untidy hair, and the same green eyes that had been seen in his family for three generations. Unlike Harry was at his age, he was tall, about 5'9. If Harry hadn't grown, he would have been way taller than him. But, he got his brain from Hermione. He was very smart, but not the bookworm Hermione was, which bugged Hermione. She wanted him to study all of his free time while he wanted to play Quiddich all of his time, free or not. James was a Seeker, like Harry. That also annoyed Hermione.
"That didn't take long," Hermione said at him, leaning against the counter. Behind her, the spatula was flipping golden brown pancakes onto a plate that levitated over to the table.
"And you blame me for this family not being normal," Harry replied to her earlier comment as he sat down and cocked an eyebrow at her. She blushed and smiled back at him.
"Am I missing something?" James said between bites. How could he eat so much and stay so skinny? Harry figured it was another trait James had gotten from him.
"James, you are going to be late," Hermione said, changing the subject.
"Oh, right," he said standing up quickly. He ran to the broom closet to grab his gear. Now, the broom closet was literally a broom closet. In the back, there was the Nimbus collection; on the right were the Firebolts and Windstorms. Finally, the left wall held the newer brooms such as the Tornadoes and the latest set, the Phantoms. Also, on the floor in the right corner was James and Harry's gear. In the other corner was the oak wood chest that held the game balls.
James was out in a flash with his Phantom 15 and his duffel bag full of gear.
"Bye," he said as he ran out the door. It slammed shut soon after, which, like James's obsession with Quidditch, was one of her pet peeves.
"He did it again," she sighed.
"Hermione, he isn't you, that means he isn't perfect. Besides, he's a kid." Harry replied. She loosened up and then sat across from Harry.
"He's just like you, you know," she said.
"No, he's too tall," Harry said.
"Harry's right. James is more like me!" someone said behind them. The door slammed, and Hermione jumped up.
"Ronald Weasley, how many times do I have to tell you, do not slam the door!" she snapped.
"Yes ma'am," he said sarcastically, saluting her. "Hello Harry."
"Hello Ron. You know, you could learn to knock like everyone else," Harry said, shaking his head.
"Then I'll loose the element of surprise," Ron said, beaming at Harry, while taking Hermione's place at the table. "How is everything at the Potter residence?"
"Ron, you sound so smart with those big words," Hermione said, loose again and looking quite cheerful.
"Why, thank you Hermione. I never thought I would hear you call me smart."
"Well, you are smart, Ron. If you would just use your head more often…" she started.
"…then I would be just like you. What fun would that be?" Ron finished her sentence, though Hermione was not planning on saying that.
"My life is fun," Hermione said, "What are you saying, Weasley?"
"A teacher? You call that fun, Granger?" Ron said slyly. And then it started, their routinely argument about who had the better life. Harry, getting bored easily, stared out the window. The sky was blue today, not a cloud in the sky at all. The sun was shining down on the world. He smiled.
Wait, where did all of those clouds suddenly come from, he thought to himself. His smile vanished as they instantly covered most of the sky. Odd. Harry looked at them hard. The dark clouds had formed something, a shape he had known since the Quidditch World Cup when he was about 14. His mouth dropped and his thoughts were racing. The phone call. The voice.
It was the Dark Mark. Voldemort's sign that all of his Death Eaters had branded on them, claiming them as his eternal servants.
"Harry? HARRY!?" Ron and Hermione shouted. They were staring at him, wide eyed.
"What?" He said, his gaze back out the window. It was gone. What the hell, he thought. Is Voldemort back? Could he be? Impossible.
"Is there something wrong?" Ron asked, "Wait, dumb question. What's wrong?"
"N-nothing," he stammered. He looked at Ron, who, as usual, looked puzzled. Then, his gaze shifted to Hermione, who looked fearful for him. She had no idea. And, she wouldn't, not her, not James.
"What happened?
"Nothing," he repeated. She sighed and crossed her arms. "Hermione, it's nothing."
"I hate your secrets Harry, you know that," she said crossly. "Fine, keep them. But, Harry, if you are that scared I…"
"I was NOT scared," Harry demanded.
"Harry, secrets don't make friends," Ron said, still looking puzzled. Suddenly, they heard a noise in the parlor. Hermione, walked away and soon came back.
"Someone called you through the fire, Harry," she said calmly. Shit. What if was the same person who called him, what if it was Voldemort.