Deadly Secrets
Faces in the Flames
Anonymous Quill
Harry slowly walked into the parlor as Ron and Hermione followed him curiously. The fire was blazing and dancing in the fireplace. Harry looked in, but didn't see Voldemort's hideous face. Not even a Death Eater. It was an old friend; Harry sighed with relief, for it was Sirius Black, his godfather.
"Hello, Sirius," Harry said; now smiling.
"Hello Harry, you look a bit preoccupied, did I catch you at a bad time?" He asked. As usual, he was concerned for Harry's well being. Ever since they met, Sirius had always looked out for him, and he was always grateful for it.
"No, not at all," Harry replied. "So, how are you?"
"Fine, nothing exciting here, how about you? Those muggles giving you any trouble?" By this, he meant the Dursleys, who were always asking him to make them things, mainly money.
"No, I threatened to use magic on the lot of them, so, I think I have finally gotten them off of my back.."
"That's good news. So, I was wondering, Marrysa and I would like you to come to dinner Saturday." Marrysa was his wife of twelve years. They didn't have any children of their own, but they did adopt Chinese orphan named Chou, who had already graduated from Hogwarts. Hermione liked her because she was like her, too smart for her own good and James looked up to her because of her talent in magic, and as a Chaser on the Quidditch field.
"We'd love to," Hermione said, "Hello Sirius."
"Hermione, good to see you again," Sirius responded. "Anyway, come around noon if you would. I have to go now, but it was good to talk to you all again."
"See you on Saturday," Harry said cheerfully. Then, Sirius's face vanished into the dying flames. Harry stood back up and turned to look at Hermione and Ron. Hermione wasn't smiling anymore though.
"So, Harry," she started, "What caught your attention in the sky?"
"Er…well," Harry said nervously. What could he say? Hermione, I saw the Dark Mark and I have reason to believe that Voldemort might be alive and might be targeting me…again. Yeah right. He couldn't, she would be terrified. "Nothing."
"Oh sure Harry," Ron said, still confused, "Keeping secrets from your own wife. Shame, shame."
"Stuff it, Ron," Harry muttered, walking past him and back into the kitchen. Hermione and Ron quickly followed.
"Harry, we are just concerned. We could help if we knew what was…" Hermione started, but Harry couldn't stand this questioning.
"It's nothing, alright," he snarled. Hermione stopped her sentence and stopped asking.
"Er… well, I should go," Ron said. Though he wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, he knew when to come, and also when to leave. He walked to the door, left, and made sure he didn't slam it so Hermione would be happy.
Hermione looked back at Harry. "Harry, tell me what you saw."
"Is that an order?" Harry asked quietly.
"Harry, please," she said. He looked at her. He should be able to tell her anything, but this would do more damage than good.
"Hermione, can we talk about this later?" Harry asked, hopefully way later.
"Why?"
"Because James is coming home. I guess while we were talking to Sirius it started to rain, then hail. Practice must have been cut short. Besides, the clock says he's coming home."
Ever since he had visited the Weasley house, the Burrow, Harry had wanted the clock they had. On each hand, there was a family member's name on it. The hands point to what that person was doing. Well, his may not have as many hands, but it was useful. And sure enough, James was running towards the door, soaking wet, dodging rather large chunks of hail.
"Fine, we'll talk about this later," she said. Suddenly, she was right in front of him, "And we WILL talk about it." She then calmly walked toward the door, used a charm to dry off James and then let him in the house.
"Dad, are you okay?" James asked. "You look, er, worried."
"I'm fine. How was practice?" Harry smiled, trying to look happy.
"It was great until the hail came. I dove for the snitch, you know, but instead, I caught a piece of bloody hail instead. That was when we decided to call of practice for today." James said. Harry and James talked about Quidditch constantly, but now, he wasn't in the mood to talk at all. "Dad, you sure your okay?"
"He's just thinking about that dinner we planned with Sirius," Hermione said. Was she covering for him? Well, thank you Hermione, he thought because soon, James was talking to her about the dinner rather than prying him. Prying? No, James wasn't "prying" him at all. He was just concerned.
"I'll be upstairs, mum," James said, after hearing all he wanted to know about the dinner plans. He got up quickly and raced toward the stairs.
Harry looked at Hermione, who was looking at him curiously. Then, he got up and went back into the parlor.
The parlor was probably the smallest room of the Potter house. It had a built in bookshelf along two of the walls; the fireplace on the third, with pictures of loved ones above it. A big window with a view of the sun set in the evenings was on the forth wall. It was Hermione's favorite room. Harry went to the bookshelf and pulled out an old book. Hagrid gave it to him a long time ago and it was filled with pictures of his parents, the family he never knew. Voldemort killed them, and he could kill him too.
But he can't be alive. Harry killed him in his seventh year at Hogwarts. He had faced him like his father did, but he lived. He always lived, the Dark Lord could usually kill anybody he wanted, but from one year old, Voldemort could not kill him. But now, he could kill not only him, but also his family.
If he actually lived.
Hermione tried to talk with him again, but he stayed shut. She tried from nine o'clock to ten. Finally, she gave up and went to bed, but Harry couldn't sleep. He was up, looking at the old photos again. His mum and dad, killed by some ruthless maniac who never deserved the title "Lord" even if dark proceeded it.
Harry stayed up, looking at photos for a long time, and, before he knew it, the clock chimed twelve o'clock AM, and he wasn't tired, even though he hadn't slept much the night before.
Harry flipped the page back to his parents wedding picture. They looked so happy. It reminded him of his own wedding. That was one of the happiest days of his life, he thought. Hermione was stunning in her wedding dress. Heck, she would look good in a sack, but, like she would ever wear a sack. He was lucky to have her.
Then, something ruined his train of thought.
The fire went ablaze, the flames almost singed him and the photo book. Harry jumped back in alarm, someone was calling him, at midnight.
"Who the hell calls someone at this hour?" he asked, quietly, making sure not to wake up Hermione or James.
"I do," hissed the voice. There wasn't a face that he could make out, but, he knew it was a Death Eater, the same person who called last night. Harry calmed down, not wanting to wake Hermione and have her see this.
"What do you want?" Harry asked, "Why are you calling?" Harry was sweating nervously. Obviously, the person could see him, because he started to laugh. That laugh, Harry had heard it before, many times, and he despised it. It was high pitched and cold. Voldemort. "Voldemort?"
The laughter continued briefly, and then, when it stopped, Harry asked again.
"Voldemort? Are you Voldemort?"
Pause. Then, the voice said, "Yes, Potter, I am back." That was his next question, or close to it.
"But, you, you're dead," Harry said, panicking even more than he was.
"You and I are the only ones who know that I am still alive. You lied to the rest." The voice laughed again. "You did not kill me all those years ago. I am back, Potter."
The flames roared and then died again. The face was gone, Voldemort was gone. Harry stood there in disbelief. So it was true, he was out to kill him yet again. Maybe now it was time to tell Hermione.
"Harry, we need to talk."
Faces in the Flames
Anonymous Quill
Harry slowly walked into the parlor as Ron and Hermione followed him curiously. The fire was blazing and dancing in the fireplace. Harry looked in, but didn't see Voldemort's hideous face. Not even a Death Eater. It was an old friend; Harry sighed with relief, for it was Sirius Black, his godfather.
"Hello, Sirius," Harry said; now smiling.
"Hello Harry, you look a bit preoccupied, did I catch you at a bad time?" He asked. As usual, he was concerned for Harry's well being. Ever since they met, Sirius had always looked out for him, and he was always grateful for it.
"No, not at all," Harry replied. "So, how are you?"
"Fine, nothing exciting here, how about you? Those muggles giving you any trouble?" By this, he meant the Dursleys, who were always asking him to make them things, mainly money.
"No, I threatened to use magic on the lot of them, so, I think I have finally gotten them off of my back.."
"That's good news. So, I was wondering, Marrysa and I would like you to come to dinner Saturday." Marrysa was his wife of twelve years. They didn't have any children of their own, but they did adopt Chinese orphan named Chou, who had already graduated from Hogwarts. Hermione liked her because she was like her, too smart for her own good and James looked up to her because of her talent in magic, and as a Chaser on the Quidditch field.
"We'd love to," Hermione said, "Hello Sirius."
"Hermione, good to see you again," Sirius responded. "Anyway, come around noon if you would. I have to go now, but it was good to talk to you all again."
"See you on Saturday," Harry said cheerfully. Then, Sirius's face vanished into the dying flames. Harry stood back up and turned to look at Hermione and Ron. Hermione wasn't smiling anymore though.
"So, Harry," she started, "What caught your attention in the sky?"
"Er…well," Harry said nervously. What could he say? Hermione, I saw the Dark Mark and I have reason to believe that Voldemort might be alive and might be targeting me…again. Yeah right. He couldn't, she would be terrified. "Nothing."
"Oh sure Harry," Ron said, still confused, "Keeping secrets from your own wife. Shame, shame."
"Stuff it, Ron," Harry muttered, walking past him and back into the kitchen. Hermione and Ron quickly followed.
"Harry, we are just concerned. We could help if we knew what was…" Hermione started, but Harry couldn't stand this questioning.
"It's nothing, alright," he snarled. Hermione stopped her sentence and stopped asking.
"Er… well, I should go," Ron said. Though he wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, he knew when to come, and also when to leave. He walked to the door, left, and made sure he didn't slam it so Hermione would be happy.
Hermione looked back at Harry. "Harry, tell me what you saw."
"Is that an order?" Harry asked quietly.
"Harry, please," she said. He looked at her. He should be able to tell her anything, but this would do more damage than good.
"Hermione, can we talk about this later?" Harry asked, hopefully way later.
"Why?"
"Because James is coming home. I guess while we were talking to Sirius it started to rain, then hail. Practice must have been cut short. Besides, the clock says he's coming home."
Ever since he had visited the Weasley house, the Burrow, Harry had wanted the clock they had. On each hand, there was a family member's name on it. The hands point to what that person was doing. Well, his may not have as many hands, but it was useful. And sure enough, James was running towards the door, soaking wet, dodging rather large chunks of hail.
"Fine, we'll talk about this later," she said. Suddenly, she was right in front of him, "And we WILL talk about it." She then calmly walked toward the door, used a charm to dry off James and then let him in the house.
"Dad, are you okay?" James asked. "You look, er, worried."
"I'm fine. How was practice?" Harry smiled, trying to look happy.
"It was great until the hail came. I dove for the snitch, you know, but instead, I caught a piece of bloody hail instead. That was when we decided to call of practice for today." James said. Harry and James talked about Quidditch constantly, but now, he wasn't in the mood to talk at all. "Dad, you sure your okay?"
"He's just thinking about that dinner we planned with Sirius," Hermione said. Was she covering for him? Well, thank you Hermione, he thought because soon, James was talking to her about the dinner rather than prying him. Prying? No, James wasn't "prying" him at all. He was just concerned.
"I'll be upstairs, mum," James said, after hearing all he wanted to know about the dinner plans. He got up quickly and raced toward the stairs.
Harry looked at Hermione, who was looking at him curiously. Then, he got up and went back into the parlor.
The parlor was probably the smallest room of the Potter house. It had a built in bookshelf along two of the walls; the fireplace on the third, with pictures of loved ones above it. A big window with a view of the sun set in the evenings was on the forth wall. It was Hermione's favorite room. Harry went to the bookshelf and pulled out an old book. Hagrid gave it to him a long time ago and it was filled with pictures of his parents, the family he never knew. Voldemort killed them, and he could kill him too.
But he can't be alive. Harry killed him in his seventh year at Hogwarts. He had faced him like his father did, but he lived. He always lived, the Dark Lord could usually kill anybody he wanted, but from one year old, Voldemort could not kill him. But now, he could kill not only him, but also his family.
If he actually lived.
Hermione tried to talk with him again, but he stayed shut. She tried from nine o'clock to ten. Finally, she gave up and went to bed, but Harry couldn't sleep. He was up, looking at the old photos again. His mum and dad, killed by some ruthless maniac who never deserved the title "Lord" even if dark proceeded it.
Harry stayed up, looking at photos for a long time, and, before he knew it, the clock chimed twelve o'clock AM, and he wasn't tired, even though he hadn't slept much the night before.
Harry flipped the page back to his parents wedding picture. They looked so happy. It reminded him of his own wedding. That was one of the happiest days of his life, he thought. Hermione was stunning in her wedding dress. Heck, she would look good in a sack, but, like she would ever wear a sack. He was lucky to have her.
Then, something ruined his train of thought.
The fire went ablaze, the flames almost singed him and the photo book. Harry jumped back in alarm, someone was calling him, at midnight.
"Who the hell calls someone at this hour?" he asked, quietly, making sure not to wake up Hermione or James.
"I do," hissed the voice. There wasn't a face that he could make out, but, he knew it was a Death Eater, the same person who called last night. Harry calmed down, not wanting to wake Hermione and have her see this.
"What do you want?" Harry asked, "Why are you calling?" Harry was sweating nervously. Obviously, the person could see him, because he started to laugh. That laugh, Harry had heard it before, many times, and he despised it. It was high pitched and cold. Voldemort. "Voldemort?"
The laughter continued briefly, and then, when it stopped, Harry asked again.
"Voldemort? Are you Voldemort?"
Pause. Then, the voice said, "Yes, Potter, I am back." That was his next question, or close to it.
"But, you, you're dead," Harry said, panicking even more than he was.
"You and I are the only ones who know that I am still alive. You lied to the rest." The voice laughed again. "You did not kill me all those years ago. I am back, Potter."
The flames roared and then died again. The face was gone, Voldemort was gone. Harry stood there in disbelief. So it was true, he was out to kill him yet again. Maybe now it was time to tell Hermione.
"Harry, we need to talk."