CHAPTER 3: BACK IN THE BURROW
In the week that followed, Harry finished his Potions homework, started his History parchment, and mastered the wizarding Mahjong, which became a favorite pastime in between bouts of homework.
Saturday came, and Harry mentioned to Uncle Vernon that he was going to his friends' house at five. Dudley raced out of the room and hid, and Harry got a prompt scolding for mentioning this, but Harry could tell that they were glad he was going.
"Well, is this man coming through the chimney like last time?" Uncle Vernon asked in a huff.
"No, I'm going back by it though."
"Ah, hrmm," he grunted, thinking. "Well, I hope it happens quickly, and that he repairs the fireplace before he goes." And that was the end of it.
At five after five, Mr. Weasley Apparated into the Dursleys' living room. Dudley, who had been watching the television, squeaked and raced out of the room, holding his bottom. Harry pulled his trunk and cage into the room.
Mr. Weasley held out his hand for Mr. Dursley to shake, but he shrank back from it like it was a snake. Aunt Petunia hung back in the door to the room watching Mr. Weasley's every move. "Well, Harry," the red-headed wizard said rather nervously. "We'd best be going."
"I'll see you next year," Harry said to Uncle Vernon, who merely humphed in reply.
Mr. Weasley looked like he was about to say something in the direction of, "Aren't you going to say good bye?" but Harry had already been through this last year. They exchanged knowing looks and the older wizard nodded. "Well," he said again.
He moved the electric fireplace aside and Harry used a little of his Floo Powder on the empty fireplace. Harry tilted his luggage into the fireplace as it lit up with a green fire. Harry shouted, "The Burrow!" and flew through the many Floo-connected fireplaces to the Weasley's home.
He stepped out of the fireplace this time, congratulating himself silently for keeping his balance. "Harry!" Mrs. Weasley cried, putting the lid back on a pot of some stew she was boiling. She hugged him, and Harry tried not to look too embarrassed. None of the Dursleys had ever tried to hug him, but then again, he didn't really want them to.
George entered the kitchen and sniffed, then glanced around and saw Harry and his mother, with her back to him, hugging. Before he said hello, though, he dropped something into the stew. "Oy, Harry! Nice to see you here again!" He glanced at the pot on the stove and said, "Ah, Mum, I think your soup is overflowing!" She spun from Harry and pointed her wand at it.
"Accio!" she called, and the blob that George had put into the stew came flying out at her. The boiling subsided, and she looked suspiciously at the soggy item in her hand. "Would you care to explain this, George?"
"Er, well, no, I wouldn't," he replied and shot out of the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley was about to follow him when Ron and Ginny came hopping down the stairs.
"Yes! Harry, you made it!" Ron yelled, while Ginny just looked happily at him with a bit of a blush tinting her cheeks.
"Yeah, the Dursleys didn't put up as much of a fight as last time. They were mostly hiding from your dad."
Ginny smirked and said, "that should make Dad pleased. No one around here hides from him..."
"Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley cut in. "Don't say such things."
'Sorry, Mum," Ginny replied, but didn't look the least bit sorry.
Harry glanced around. "Is Hermione here yet? She told me she'd come." Ron glared at him as if bringing her up was a bad idea, and then changed the look as Ginny glanced back and forth.
"We're meeting her in Diagon Alley tomorrow," Mrs. Weasley supplied when neither child spoke up.
Ron's eyes beckoned him upstairs, and Ginny nodded slowly towards the stairs.
Harry dragged his trunk up while Ron took his empty cage. Hedwig hooted at Harry when he entered Ron's room, Ginny holding the door for them.
"Hermione wrote me two days ago with Hedwig. She told me that she had a nasty scare in Spain by some Death Eaters. Thankfully, no one was hurt by them, but they were shouting that Mudbloods were no good. Got her really shook up, you know?"
Ginny nodded. "Her letter rambled on, and she spelled things wrong. Do you think You-Know-Who was behind this, or that they're just playing because their master is back and they are the rising bullies?"
Harry shrugged, setting down his trunk and sitting on it. "I haven't had any pains or strange dreams, if that's what you're asking. I really don't know what He's up to." He quickly explained the letter from Dumbledore, adding, "He said something about Snuffles but we'll talk about that with Hermione."
Ron furrowed his brow, and Ginny shuddered. "Does your scar always tell you when You-Know-Who is thinking up some scheme?"
"So far it's never done me wrong. It hasn't hurt me lately, hardly at all this summer. Just once or twice really bad, and maybe six smaller ones."
Ron bit his lower lip, playing with a strand of reddish hair absently. "That means that He's planning something big soon." When they looked at him in confusion, he added, "Well, He's not exactly the type to sit around and twiddle his thumbs. He must be doing something."
"But what?" Ginny whispered, genuinely frightened.
Before they could launch into some endless debate, their mother called all three of them down to help set the table for supper.
As Ron clumped down the stairs, Harry grasped Ginny's hand, making her blush. "It's okay, he can't get to you."
"He got to me once," she replied, eyes wide.
"He'd probably be after me more than you. I'm the one He just can't get rid of," he joked. Ginny didn't look too happy with this, but Harry couldn't say more because Ron had turned around at the bottom of the stairs and was waiting impatiently for them. Harry squeezed her hand to comfort her and let go, then hopped down the stairs.
* * *
He was standing on the sidewalk of an unfamiliar street, waiting for... someone. He wasn't sure who he was meeting, only that the confrontation would not be pleasant. His hands were shaking, his legs were cramping up, and his breath was coming in ragged gasps.
"Corey!" A whispered voice called from the shadows behind him.
He turned to look at the girl shivering behind him, and hissed, "Arlé! You shouldn't be here!"
"I'm not leaving without you Corey. You don't need to fight them now." She grasped his arm and looked pleadingly up at him with bright green eyes.
"No. I will stand and fight for Mum and Dad. Get Pat and go!" He ducked under the outcropping of the store, out of the dim light.
"Pat's dead," she replied softly, her eyes filled with tears, but he could see something strengthen within their emerald depths.
"We're the last, then." He pulled her into a hug, but they both jumped back when a sudden noise echoed down the street.
"This is it," he said to her, pulling out his wand and rubbing his legs wistfully.
Arlé glanced up at him, and he noticed within her emerald eyes a glint of a red flicker.
"You wouldn't," he said, appalled at what he saw.
"To protect you, I will," she replied defiantly, and the red flicker became a steady glow.
"You're not trained," he protested, and a shadow congealed behind her. "Lumos," he muttered, pointing his wand towards the shadow.
The stooped figure crouching there stood up, framed in the glow of his wand.
"Eric..."
"You're dead, Corey. You and your sister will die just as your mother and father did," Eric sneered, holding his wand in front of him in defense. "The last of the Reed family, the last two with the weird little magic tricks."
"They're not weird," he snarled.
"They are. Thankfully, your sister there will never learn them."
Eric pointed his wand at Arlé, and her brother glanced into Arlé's eyes. iThe first sign of her magic is within the eyes.../i
They were almost glowing to contain her energy, but Eric didn't notice this.
He knew the glazed look all too well; he had seen it in both his father and his elder brother's eyes. iIf they glow, you've gone too far.../i
"And you would fight to protect ithis/i?" Eric spat at him, motioning at Arlé. "You can't possibly think she's got the Reed Power, can you?" Eric tilted his head, as if listening to something. "Ah, My Master says to kill you now. Which one first?" He laughed and pointed to Arlé. "The sister dies first!
"iAvada Kedavra/i!" Eric shouted, and her brother flung himself at Arlé... A green light exploded all around him, and then just as suddenly, fire blossomed...
Harry sat up in his bed, groaning loudly and clutching at his throbbing scar. Ron woke up with a barely stifled curse, and then realized it was Harry.
"Harry!" Ron cried, then hushed his voice and whispered, "What's wrong? Is it your scar?"
Harry looked around dizzily, sight tinted with the fire and the green light. Ron crawled out of bed and crouched next to him on the floor. "Harry?"
He rocked a little, waiting for the pain to subside as the Dark Lord had his fill of the death that had just occurred. Who were they? Why did that Eric want to kill them? He struggled to catch his breath again.
His vision cleared after a long moment, and shortly thereafter, the pain decreased.
"Hey, Harry, do you want me to go get Mum?"
"No," he groaned. He glanced up at Ron, still holding his scar with both hands. "I've never seen this in first person," he added softly as the pain slowly seeped away. "I've always been watching as they die...Never been the one to die..."
"Harry?" Ron asked yet again, cocking an eyebrow.
"I was there," Harry explained, still speaking softly. "I saw someone die, only I was inside this person's mind. I could feel what he was feeling..."
"How is that possible?" Ron demanded, catching Harry's arm as he struggled to get up.
"I don't know," he grunted as he struggled to his feet, but he had his own idea that he was not saying to Ron. What if his connection to Voldemort was deepening...
Ron yawned widely, and covered it with his hand. "Sorry, Harry. But you disturbed my beauty sleep..."
"Ron, you can go back to sleep." He could tell Ron was about to object, but a yawn settled him.
"Okay... I'll see you in the morning." Ron took one last glance at him before climbing back into bed. Harry was glad Ron had decided against coming down to stay up with him; he couldn't sleep now, and he had to write to Dumbledore before he forgot everything...
He grabbed a blanket, his wand, and a quill and paper and walked down the narrow stairs.
Professor Dumbledore,
I think that Voldemort is up to something... I had a dream where I was in someone else's mind, hearing their thoughts. It was a boy, older than me, but I can't remember his name. I think it started with a "C". He had a younger sister about my age, her name was Aryl, I think. They were running from a Death Eater named Eric, who had killed their family. Eric wanted to destroy something about the family line, some individual trait or unique magic. He caught up with them and he used Avada Kedavra on them, but I'm not sure who he got. There was a lot of fire there too, and that's when I woke up with my scar giving me pains.
What does it mean? Why would He want to go after them?
~Harry
He sat back and read it, trying to keep the facts straight within his mind, scar sending an unpleasant buzz through his head. He folded the letter and tucked it into his pocket, then shuffled over to the kitchen to get a drink. As he did so, he noticed the Weasley clock, which told where each of the Weasleys were. Six hands were pointing on home, Mr. Weasley's and Charley's hands were pointing at Work and Away.
He sank back into the couch, feeling suddenly tired by the whole swarm of thoughts in his head. Some time before Mr. Weasley came home, he was asleep, curled up on the couch, one hand covering his scar protectively.
* * *
Harry sat up straight, blinking the sun out of his eyes. Had he really slept the entire night on the couch? Apparently he had, and he could hear some noises coming from the kitchen, showing the ever bustling Weasley house in full tilt, but everyone was steering clear of the living room. He glanced down at his wrist out of habit but he no longer had any watch to tell him the time; the last one had been lost when he had worn it while swimming in the lake.
He quickly hurried upstairs and dressed, scar pounding dully with each sharp move-ment he made. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror, and paused at the bright emerald eyes. iThe first sign of her magic is within the eyes.../i
He closed them for a moment as the realization hit him: the dream was clearer now than it had been last night. He wasn't sure whether this was good news or bad news.
He pulled the crumpled letter out of his pocket and quickly replaced the name "Aryl" with the name Arlé, and paused as he glanced at the "C" name he hadn't remembered last night. He could remember Arlé's name, but not her brother's.
And all he could think of were her eyes, the emerald depths, and their spiraling red... Who were they? Why were they so important to Voldemort? iWhy/i?
In the week that followed, Harry finished his Potions homework, started his History parchment, and mastered the wizarding Mahjong, which became a favorite pastime in between bouts of homework.
Saturday came, and Harry mentioned to Uncle Vernon that he was going to his friends' house at five. Dudley raced out of the room and hid, and Harry got a prompt scolding for mentioning this, but Harry could tell that they were glad he was going.
"Well, is this man coming through the chimney like last time?" Uncle Vernon asked in a huff.
"No, I'm going back by it though."
"Ah, hrmm," he grunted, thinking. "Well, I hope it happens quickly, and that he repairs the fireplace before he goes." And that was the end of it.
At five after five, Mr. Weasley Apparated into the Dursleys' living room. Dudley, who had been watching the television, squeaked and raced out of the room, holding his bottom. Harry pulled his trunk and cage into the room.
Mr. Weasley held out his hand for Mr. Dursley to shake, but he shrank back from it like it was a snake. Aunt Petunia hung back in the door to the room watching Mr. Weasley's every move. "Well, Harry," the red-headed wizard said rather nervously. "We'd best be going."
"I'll see you next year," Harry said to Uncle Vernon, who merely humphed in reply.
Mr. Weasley looked like he was about to say something in the direction of, "Aren't you going to say good bye?" but Harry had already been through this last year. They exchanged knowing looks and the older wizard nodded. "Well," he said again.
He moved the electric fireplace aside and Harry used a little of his Floo Powder on the empty fireplace. Harry tilted his luggage into the fireplace as it lit up with a green fire. Harry shouted, "The Burrow!" and flew through the many Floo-connected fireplaces to the Weasley's home.
He stepped out of the fireplace this time, congratulating himself silently for keeping his balance. "Harry!" Mrs. Weasley cried, putting the lid back on a pot of some stew she was boiling. She hugged him, and Harry tried not to look too embarrassed. None of the Dursleys had ever tried to hug him, but then again, he didn't really want them to.
George entered the kitchen and sniffed, then glanced around and saw Harry and his mother, with her back to him, hugging. Before he said hello, though, he dropped something into the stew. "Oy, Harry! Nice to see you here again!" He glanced at the pot on the stove and said, "Ah, Mum, I think your soup is overflowing!" She spun from Harry and pointed her wand at it.
"Accio!" she called, and the blob that George had put into the stew came flying out at her. The boiling subsided, and she looked suspiciously at the soggy item in her hand. "Would you care to explain this, George?"
"Er, well, no, I wouldn't," he replied and shot out of the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley was about to follow him when Ron and Ginny came hopping down the stairs.
"Yes! Harry, you made it!" Ron yelled, while Ginny just looked happily at him with a bit of a blush tinting her cheeks.
"Yeah, the Dursleys didn't put up as much of a fight as last time. They were mostly hiding from your dad."
Ginny smirked and said, "that should make Dad pleased. No one around here hides from him..."
"Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley cut in. "Don't say such things."
'Sorry, Mum," Ginny replied, but didn't look the least bit sorry.
Harry glanced around. "Is Hermione here yet? She told me she'd come." Ron glared at him as if bringing her up was a bad idea, and then changed the look as Ginny glanced back and forth.
"We're meeting her in Diagon Alley tomorrow," Mrs. Weasley supplied when neither child spoke up.
Ron's eyes beckoned him upstairs, and Ginny nodded slowly towards the stairs.
Harry dragged his trunk up while Ron took his empty cage. Hedwig hooted at Harry when he entered Ron's room, Ginny holding the door for them.
"Hermione wrote me two days ago with Hedwig. She told me that she had a nasty scare in Spain by some Death Eaters. Thankfully, no one was hurt by them, but they were shouting that Mudbloods were no good. Got her really shook up, you know?"
Ginny nodded. "Her letter rambled on, and she spelled things wrong. Do you think You-Know-Who was behind this, or that they're just playing because their master is back and they are the rising bullies?"
Harry shrugged, setting down his trunk and sitting on it. "I haven't had any pains or strange dreams, if that's what you're asking. I really don't know what He's up to." He quickly explained the letter from Dumbledore, adding, "He said something about Snuffles but we'll talk about that with Hermione."
Ron furrowed his brow, and Ginny shuddered. "Does your scar always tell you when You-Know-Who is thinking up some scheme?"
"So far it's never done me wrong. It hasn't hurt me lately, hardly at all this summer. Just once or twice really bad, and maybe six smaller ones."
Ron bit his lower lip, playing with a strand of reddish hair absently. "That means that He's planning something big soon." When they looked at him in confusion, he added, "Well, He's not exactly the type to sit around and twiddle his thumbs. He must be doing something."
"But what?" Ginny whispered, genuinely frightened.
Before they could launch into some endless debate, their mother called all three of them down to help set the table for supper.
As Ron clumped down the stairs, Harry grasped Ginny's hand, making her blush. "It's okay, he can't get to you."
"He got to me once," she replied, eyes wide.
"He'd probably be after me more than you. I'm the one He just can't get rid of," he joked. Ginny didn't look too happy with this, but Harry couldn't say more because Ron had turned around at the bottom of the stairs and was waiting impatiently for them. Harry squeezed her hand to comfort her and let go, then hopped down the stairs.
* * *
He was standing on the sidewalk of an unfamiliar street, waiting for... someone. He wasn't sure who he was meeting, only that the confrontation would not be pleasant. His hands were shaking, his legs were cramping up, and his breath was coming in ragged gasps.
"Corey!" A whispered voice called from the shadows behind him.
He turned to look at the girl shivering behind him, and hissed, "Arlé! You shouldn't be here!"
"I'm not leaving without you Corey. You don't need to fight them now." She grasped his arm and looked pleadingly up at him with bright green eyes.
"No. I will stand and fight for Mum and Dad. Get Pat and go!" He ducked under the outcropping of the store, out of the dim light.
"Pat's dead," she replied softly, her eyes filled with tears, but he could see something strengthen within their emerald depths.
"We're the last, then." He pulled her into a hug, but they both jumped back when a sudden noise echoed down the street.
"This is it," he said to her, pulling out his wand and rubbing his legs wistfully.
Arlé glanced up at him, and he noticed within her emerald eyes a glint of a red flicker.
"You wouldn't," he said, appalled at what he saw.
"To protect you, I will," she replied defiantly, and the red flicker became a steady glow.
"You're not trained," he protested, and a shadow congealed behind her. "Lumos," he muttered, pointing his wand towards the shadow.
The stooped figure crouching there stood up, framed in the glow of his wand.
"Eric..."
"You're dead, Corey. You and your sister will die just as your mother and father did," Eric sneered, holding his wand in front of him in defense. "The last of the Reed family, the last two with the weird little magic tricks."
"They're not weird," he snarled.
"They are. Thankfully, your sister there will never learn them."
Eric pointed his wand at Arlé, and her brother glanced into Arlé's eyes. iThe first sign of her magic is within the eyes.../i
They were almost glowing to contain her energy, but Eric didn't notice this.
He knew the glazed look all too well; he had seen it in both his father and his elder brother's eyes. iIf they glow, you've gone too far.../i
"And you would fight to protect ithis/i?" Eric spat at him, motioning at Arlé. "You can't possibly think she's got the Reed Power, can you?" Eric tilted his head, as if listening to something. "Ah, My Master says to kill you now. Which one first?" He laughed and pointed to Arlé. "The sister dies first!
"iAvada Kedavra/i!" Eric shouted, and her brother flung himself at Arlé... A green light exploded all around him, and then just as suddenly, fire blossomed...
Harry sat up in his bed, groaning loudly and clutching at his throbbing scar. Ron woke up with a barely stifled curse, and then realized it was Harry.
"Harry!" Ron cried, then hushed his voice and whispered, "What's wrong? Is it your scar?"
Harry looked around dizzily, sight tinted with the fire and the green light. Ron crawled out of bed and crouched next to him on the floor. "Harry?"
He rocked a little, waiting for the pain to subside as the Dark Lord had his fill of the death that had just occurred. Who were they? Why did that Eric want to kill them? He struggled to catch his breath again.
His vision cleared after a long moment, and shortly thereafter, the pain decreased.
"Hey, Harry, do you want me to go get Mum?"
"No," he groaned. He glanced up at Ron, still holding his scar with both hands. "I've never seen this in first person," he added softly as the pain slowly seeped away. "I've always been watching as they die...Never been the one to die..."
"Harry?" Ron asked yet again, cocking an eyebrow.
"I was there," Harry explained, still speaking softly. "I saw someone die, only I was inside this person's mind. I could feel what he was feeling..."
"How is that possible?" Ron demanded, catching Harry's arm as he struggled to get up.
"I don't know," he grunted as he struggled to his feet, but he had his own idea that he was not saying to Ron. What if his connection to Voldemort was deepening...
Ron yawned widely, and covered it with his hand. "Sorry, Harry. But you disturbed my beauty sleep..."
"Ron, you can go back to sleep." He could tell Ron was about to object, but a yawn settled him.
"Okay... I'll see you in the morning." Ron took one last glance at him before climbing back into bed. Harry was glad Ron had decided against coming down to stay up with him; he couldn't sleep now, and he had to write to Dumbledore before he forgot everything...
He grabbed a blanket, his wand, and a quill and paper and walked down the narrow stairs.
Professor Dumbledore,
I think that Voldemort is up to something... I had a dream where I was in someone else's mind, hearing their thoughts. It was a boy, older than me, but I can't remember his name. I think it started with a "C". He had a younger sister about my age, her name was Aryl, I think. They were running from a Death Eater named Eric, who had killed their family. Eric wanted to destroy something about the family line, some individual trait or unique magic. He caught up with them and he used Avada Kedavra on them, but I'm not sure who he got. There was a lot of fire there too, and that's when I woke up with my scar giving me pains.
What does it mean? Why would He want to go after them?
~Harry
He sat back and read it, trying to keep the facts straight within his mind, scar sending an unpleasant buzz through his head. He folded the letter and tucked it into his pocket, then shuffled over to the kitchen to get a drink. As he did so, he noticed the Weasley clock, which told where each of the Weasleys were. Six hands were pointing on home, Mr. Weasley's and Charley's hands were pointing at Work and Away.
He sank back into the couch, feeling suddenly tired by the whole swarm of thoughts in his head. Some time before Mr. Weasley came home, he was asleep, curled up on the couch, one hand covering his scar protectively.
* * *
Harry sat up straight, blinking the sun out of his eyes. Had he really slept the entire night on the couch? Apparently he had, and he could hear some noises coming from the kitchen, showing the ever bustling Weasley house in full tilt, but everyone was steering clear of the living room. He glanced down at his wrist out of habit but he no longer had any watch to tell him the time; the last one had been lost when he had worn it while swimming in the lake.
He quickly hurried upstairs and dressed, scar pounding dully with each sharp move-ment he made. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror, and paused at the bright emerald eyes. iThe first sign of her magic is within the eyes.../i
He closed them for a moment as the realization hit him: the dream was clearer now than it had been last night. He wasn't sure whether this was good news or bad news.
He pulled the crumpled letter out of his pocket and quickly replaced the name "Aryl" with the name Arlé, and paused as he glanced at the "C" name he hadn't remembered last night. He could remember Arlé's name, but not her brother's.
And all he could think of were her eyes, the emerald depths, and their spiraling red... Who were they? Why were they so important to Voldemort? iWhy/i?