A/N: Alright, so I made up my mind. Heather's not a Wiccan, but because both Severus and James are/were (in my sordid little mind), she does take part in several pieces of the religion. The candle colors mentioned have a use in rituals; the flowers and stones too. The website I used this time was: .
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Heather Hidden
Chapter Thirteen
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By dawn, the pain in Harry's gut had magnified.
By dawn, Heather had still not returned.
And by dawn, the identity of the true traitor was known.
"I can't believe that we actually trusted her!" Thomas exclaimed, slamming his forehead down onto his crossed hands.
The Order had assembled around midday at the castle, the Main Hall more crowded than it had ever been before. The members were outraged – then enraged upon seeing the empty chair that the redhead normally groaned about. And further angered when they realized who had accessed the portkey that the twins had used.
"You know that her allegiance would explain how our inventories were off. Or why some of our spies have been discovered." Victoria Grey commented, "She was the person Heather trusted to keep track of those items."
"So what do we do now?" Harry looked around at the people who had silenced immediately from the sound of his voice.
They looked between each other.
"Harry, I don't think there's much we can do. It may be up to your sister." Severus explained quietly.
He grasped the armrests of his chair and leaned forward, "No! There has to be something!" He couldn't cope with them any longer and dashed from the room, running aimlessly deeper into the castle. His brained reeled through every possibility, every shred of hope.
Then he proceeded to smack his entire body into a thick wall. The hallway had ended. He was now lost in the upper level of the building with but one door to his right. With nothing left to do, the boy entered into the room.
It was cozy affair. A large lead-patterned window allowed soft moonlight to reveal a silver metal frame and green linens which made up a bed, with a huge red drape behind the non-existent headboard. A pewter candelabra stood beside the piece of furniture with a single brown ball candle burning. At the foot of the bed, a plush blue couch, which seemed to be on its last legs, had several books on one cushion.
A side table was pushed close to the wall beside the door. The unmistakable Hogwarts emblem hanging on the stone above the surface, glistening in the light of three royal blue pillar candles. The hot objects were situated at the middle of the table on a gold plate, with roses and lilacs in a clear glass vase to the left. To the right, closest to the door, was a clear glass bowl filled with small stones – aquamarine, bloodstone, emerald, and tiger-eye being the few the youth could identify.
Then Harry realized what he had found. This had to be Heather's home away from home. Her little hideout when the going got tough. She had told him about it the night had gone to se…yell at her, promising that one day the new teacher would take her brother to visit it.
He turned to go to the bed, to relax at last with her unique scent of vanilla and apple, when he caught sight of peeking out from behind the red drape. Carefully, he pulled the fabric away, being mindful of the candelabra, to be introduced to his sibling's hidden stash of family sentimentals.
Dried flowers, more stones, a few bracelets sat on the wood placed into the hole made in the wall. Beneath that shelve was another, where a set of books were laid on their sides, the titles print upside down. Beside them, a small box, much like the one that Heather had passed on to him from their mother was sitting with the letters H.L.P. carved in. His sister's then.
"Harry?" Snape had come.
The teenager emerged from the item obscuring his body, "I…Heath…It was…"
"Knowing your sister, she probably made it impossible for you to not find her little lair." The man had his arms crossed and a look of distaste on his face, "Have you found anything of interest?"
"Not particularly, no." The reply was truthful. This room, though smaller than the one she had near the Gryffindor dormitory, was what he'd expect from her. It held no true house colors, as Heather had explained to him that she didn't hold a loyalty to any of the four – but rather to all of them.
Severus sighed, and reached into the bowl of stones to retrieve a black one.
"What's that? I don't know them all." Harry inquired, curious to know the answer.
"Black Tourmaline. I'll explain it to you another time." The man promised, "Now, we should get back downstairs. The Council has decided a course of action and you should be in bed. It's very late."
"Can I ask you something?" The black-haired child asked, as they passed through the doorway.
Closing the wooden barrier tightly, the professor replied, "Of course you can."
"Why is it called the High Council if Heather is the Leader?"
Severus smiled, "Because she maybe a very bright, strategic person, but she doesn't know everything, as she'll readily admit. And when she took the throne, so to speak, she established the Council as a board of advisors almost. She likens it to the Yanks' Presidential Cabinet. Everyone is expert on something for it – the Headmaster is her renaissance man, I handle potions, your mother transfigurations. Percy Weasley's a very logical strategist. Thomas and Dorothea are the enigmas. We're not sure what they're on the Council for, but they've never failed a mission."
"Oh."
They had continued down the hallway in silence, brooding on their thoughts, while Harrison tried to reach his sister.
"Harry, it's unlikely that she'll be able to hear you. I'm sure you can sense her emotions, her pain, but I don't think she can reach back to you in any way. Yallenoa has probably informed the Dark Lord of the Adiuvo and he has come up with some way of rendering her unable to use it." The professor reached a hand to grasp his son's, "And I know that it is hurting her to not have access to it."
By the time they reached the foyer to the Main Hall, the doors almost twinkling in the non-existent sunlight, Potter was ready to admit that he was tired, and opened his mouth to say so. Except he was cut off.
The castle's foundation shook, causing tapestries to fall to the ground and paintings to yell as they smacked against the walls. Dust and dirt flitted down from the ceiling, as well as several candles to spew wax from the chandeliers.
Without warning, the huge doors screeched open. The members of the Order poured out, and swept the two males into the fray as they exited the huge building. Once outside and in the light of the evening, they could all see the shaking come to a halt – just before flames began to lick the side of the golden-glow stones. No one moved.
Yet it didn't burn. Nothing inside was catching fire, nor did any of the items on the exterior. The Castle of Fire was living up to its name, as it's wards degraded. Its heir was not there to fix it, so the intense red-white heat would have to run its course.
"THAT'S IT!" Remus Lupin exclaimed, as all stood transfixed before the sight, "We have to find her. This will not end until she is safely at home."
A voice grimly added, "Or she's dead."
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"I should never have trusted that…that bastard!" Yallenoa Skye huffed.
"Ya' think!" Was Heather's automatic reply, as she tried to not look at the seventeen-year old girl across the room from her.
It had been a simple idea: from the family summer home, go to a sacred place in the Irish country side that had been stripped of a name many years before, the dark-skinned witch would meet her there.
That's not what happened.
Upon arriving at the destination, the traitor was standing by with Lucius Malfoy and several other Deatheaters. The elder Potter child knew that she wouldn't be able to escape, not when the girl must've told her master everything. So the redhead was pretty much defenseless.
"Shut up, Potter!"
"No way in hell!" The leader of the Order was getting angry, "You're the one who chose to be a git. I have done nothing to you beyond take you into my home when your mother died, then found you another family who would love you, raise you. I got you sent to the school you wanted to go to. Now I think you owe me an explanation on why you have betrayed both Harry and I."
The younger glared daggers, "My mother would not have died if you hadn't sent her on that suicide mission."
"I did not pick her to go. And it was never a suicide mission." The daggers were returned with more force than necessary.
"Really? Then why didn't anyone tell me where or why
she was going?"
"Because you were fourteen!"
Heather sighed, "Your mother knew there was a slight risk that if she were to
be found out, that she would most probably be returning home in a casket. I begged her, literally, on my hands and
knees, to not go. I would ask another
to go, someone without children. She
told me that what was to be was to be and made me promise not to tell you anything. Do you really think I would have sent her
knowingly to her death?"
"Yes."
"Then you are as thickheaded as your father was."
A primal
scream echoed through the dungeon holding room, as the brunette dragged the
other up and pressed her to the wall, "You got her killed!"
"No. You did. Or do you not
remember placing the picture and the note in her bag when she left? That was what destroyed her story. She was under suspicion when she arrived at
the Deatheater meeting, and all Lucius…that prat you have allied yourself with
now…needed to do was open her suitcase to know the truth." The anger was so
palatable in Heather's voice, it scared Skye, "You want to blame me for letting
Miranda go, fine. You want to punish
me, I'm game and I'll take it all. But
this…this is not either of those, Yallenoa.
This is a death sentence. For
you and I. And Harry."
She dropped her former leader, "Oh god, the Adiuvo…"
"Didn't think of that, did you? Have you forgotten what it was like when Karmanel died? I do because you screamed until your throat bled. You bit me in a frenzy and hexed my father. You two, however, had that bond starting from when he was six and you were five. Harry's had this from the age of one. I die and he most probably will become an invalid for the rest of his life."
"Fuck."
Slowly, calmly, Heather tamped her anger down – it would do her no good at the moment. Then she sat back down on the floor, listening as Yallenoa began to pace the room and whisper to herself. She reached out for her brother, only to find that she couldn't feel him. She tried again.
Still nothing. Almost as if someone had left the bond, yet blocked her from any inquiries he made.
The red-haired teenager closed her eyes and turned her intuition inward, scanning every part of her body for pain, sickness, tampering…there in her stomach lay a potion she didn't know. So she did the most disgusting thing she'd ever done to herself before.
Potter forced herself to vomit.
"What are you doing?"
Wiping her lips, the girl replied with a cough, "I'm getting us out of here." And tried to gage what Skye was thinking, before engaging her mind once again, Harrison.
There was no reply, but she could feel him. He was awestruck and gob-smacked.
Now what is so interesting?
She knew he was beginning to hear her, Heath…er? Came the reply. The bit of potion that she had been forced to drink at some point when she was unconscious hours before obviously had been absorbed into her blood stream.
Harry.
The castle's on fire.
Well, it has been six months, hasn't it? No matter. The headquarters will be fine.
Wh…ere…are…yo…u?
I don't know. Tell Papa to not do anything stupid.
His understanding seeped through to her, and the nearly-nineteen year old rose from the floor, "Where are we?"
"They never told me." Yallenoa shook her head, "They expected that I might be a spy and tell someone what was going to happen, so they didn't tell me much."
Heather swore harshly, "Are we the only one's here?"
"Yes. They left us here to die."
Seemingly without purpose, the redhead placed a hand on one wall and began to walk around the square room, tracing the stones as she went. Her fingertips translated to her brain – large crack, what was once a doorway and was now bricked up, cool metal from a window… Each imperfection catalogued into her memory. She did it twice, three times, and each time stopped in a particular area.
At what would've been her fourth trek around the cell, the teen stood in front of the spot. There was something about it, like it were hiding something. So she cautiously reached a hand forward and touched the center with her palm.
And a door of cracked wood appeared.
Yallenoa leapt forward, only to be grabbed by her ex-friend, now only ally left, "No."
"But…"
"He maybe a fanatical murder, but Tom is by no means stupid. There are bound to be hexes and curses surrounding that thing, or something on the other side will be waiting. Right now, I want you to sit down and let me think."
Skye did as she was ordered, out of, if nothing else, training, and watched as Heather continued to stand before the exit, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
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The fire had raged on through the night, many members staying behind to keep the massive number of charms up so no one could accidentally come across a burning castle. Those who hadn't stayed, which Harry was surprised to find that some were Muggles, returned to their homes. Any ideas that could help with the last-minute plan were to be reported to Thomas or Thea.
It was six a.m. before anyone got any semblance of sleep at Hogwarts, with the exceptions of Harry and Severus. The fifteen-year old refused to sleep, and the father refused to let the child stay up by himself.
"Thank you Dobby." Harry heard sometime around six-thirty, and left the library to find that Snape had ordered food them both.
"Not hungry."
"You are a terrible liar sometimes. Come. Eat." The raven-haired man had already settled into the rocking chair, and patted his knee.
Suddenly, the aching hunger that had been suppressed for days on end began crawling through his body, and before he knew it, Harry was sitting on the professor's lap, the back of his head against the black shoulder, and a plate of fresh food in his hands.
"Well, now, that seems to have solved the problem." Severus chuckled, and rubbed his son's arm, before leaning back and sighing.
"What's the matter?" Potter managed to ask around a mouth full of mash, then thought the better of what he had asked. For a moment he had gotten a reprieve from reality. He put the dish down, turned, and proceeded to bury his face into the man's neck.
"Harry?" The potions master whispered quietly, when he realized the boy wasn't crying.
"She hurts."
"How? How does she hurt?"
A hand went up the youth's hair, as the reply came, "Bleeding."
The man's eyes closed against the memory of another forced into the unimaginable position, "Where?"
"Stomach. Ears." Harry refused to remove his face from its spot, beginning to tremble lightly, "Hurts all over now. Like a curse. Ow." The grip on his father became tighter, crushing almost.
"Harry. You know how to block her. You have to right now."
Eventually, the child began to ease his touch, and relaxed. Only to be startled again when Sirius came slamming into the room, Dumbledore and Lupin nipping at the animagi's heels.
"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON?!" The man bellowed.
Harry practically flew into the bedroom, locking the door. There was an argument coming and he didn't want to hear it.
"That was a good one." Snape rubbed his eyes as he rose from the chair, "What is going on is that my daughter has been captured because she trusted your niece. By the way, Yallenoa is the traitor Heather has been looking for. Also, Harry's link to his sister is flaring up because she is in pain and he won't block her out."
"He was in your lap." Black hissed.
"Because he's scared. Heather did the same and you never felt threatened by that. I just got him to eat, and I thought I might get him to have more when you decided to come in an interrupt everything."
The man stared at his peer, "I hate it when you are so blasted logical. I still don't like that you call her your daughter."
Severus snorted at the remark, and went to his bedroom door. Despite what the boy may have thought, the professor had placed a charm immediately on the door the first night the youth had been there, and he was admitted to the room without hesitation.
Harry was crouched on the floor, wedged between the armoire and the wall, talking to himself and rubbing his forehead, "I'm cold."
The hand from earlier snaked out and touched the skin of the child. It was clammy, "Stop it, right now. She's a big girl and she would be very upset if she realized what you're doing."
"I can't…"
"You don't have to block her out all the way."
Potter shook his head, "I know she's still alive."
That was one point the professor had to concede, so he spoke no more. Instead, he helped the scarred boy from his hiding spot and laid him down in the bed, the duvet pulled up to his chin, "She'll be back. I promise you that."
He was careful to not specify whether she'd be coming back alive or…
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*v* Cassie Jamie *v*
cj.1@cassie-jamie.com
This one only took two days…wonder if I can get it down to one…
Alright, Tinuviel, just coz you asked, I'll tell you. The challenge I've been thinking of was as follows:
A person's mind can only take so long before it begins to believe the things they are told – be it lies or the truth. After fifteen perpetual years of hearing that he was a worthless freak, Harry ran away from the verbal and mental abuse (not physical) to the one place most "freaks" find companionship – a circus. And in the process of giving up his identity, disappeared for three years.
At what would have been the end of their seventh year, Voldemort has taken over much of Europe. One of the few safe havens left is Hogwarts. After one big battle (I don't care when, just so long it was after Harry has disappeared and the school year started), the school stopped allowing anything but owls and house elves in or out of the building as there are a few errant Deatheaters hiding just outside Hogwarts' wards. Hagrid has been forced inside away from his beloved animals, while Ron and Hermione have not seen their families since they returned for their fifth year. It is uncertain if the older Weasleys made it out of the country to America, where many have gone for asylum.
The Wizarding community has started to revolt and fight back with more vengeance than ever before. But without the Golden Boy for a symbol of hope, they're failing. So someone (Severus was my thought, but Remus, Siri, and Draco were all suggestions that were made.) decides the time has come for Harry to be brought back home.
That was as much as I wanted to because much more and I'd be writing the story myself! I don't mind if some teachers have died, especially if Dumbledore's a ghost. And, as my friend pointed out to me, there should be no sort of Quidditch playing OUTSIDE. Have mini games in the Great Hall, fine, but not outside. The only outdoor type thing they should have is the courtyard (like in the movie) that the students walk through from class to class.
Anyways, also, one point of contention for me – if anyone does write this atrocity of a story, and wants to use Severus, and does the long lost father thing, don't do the common spells-that-break-at-a-certain-age thing on Harry and that's why no one recognized him. Anything would be better. A potion would be a good irony. I love those stories, but their getting monotonous. :-D
