Author's Note: Every writer has his favorite story, and this is mine. The idea intrigued me, and it came off better than I hoped it would. No overt romance, but lots of mystery to keep the reader guessing. It's only 10 not-so-long chapters, so pull up a screen and dive in. I hope, when
it's over, you'll consider it time well spent. (Or, at the very least, not QUITE the waste of time you thought it might be.)
Disclaimer: Every person, place and thing in this story belongs to J.K Rowling. I'm not making any money on it, nor will I ever. Honestly -- who would ever PAY to read THIS?
***
In the stillness of a Hogwarts night, Harry dreamed.
He was in Hogsmeade, standing in front of the Three Broomsticks. Witches and wizards of all variety passed by, as well as magical creatures of decidedly non-human nature. Harry ignored them. He was looking at his watch for the dozenth time.
Where was Hermione?
Harry shrugged impatiently. He knew she would be late; she'd suddenly remembered something and told Harry to go to Hogsmeade without her, promising to catch up. Knowing Hermione as he did, Harry knew that "something" could be as trivial as a shopping list, but just as easily could involve a trip to the library, in which case she could easily have lost track of the time and forgotten their date altogether.
But speculation was pointless. Harry had dutifully ordered drinks, consumed first his and then hers, and now stood vigil on the sidewalk, casting occasional glances toward the path leading to Hogwarts.
Harry sighed, shook his head wearily, and checked his watch yet again --
A scream rent the air. Harry looked up, alert, his hand poised to draw his wand. A gaggle of witches and wizards stood with eyes wide and mouths agape, some pointing with trembling fingers at a spot above and to Harry's right. He turned in the direction indicated -- then he froze.
Igor Karkaroff stood on the roof of the Three Broomsticks. His bearded face was split in a wide, yellow-toothed grin. His eyes were black points of pure malevolence. His wand was pointed at Harry's heart!
Galvanized to action, Harry reached for his wand in a lightning motion,but --
"Crucio!"
Harry fell writhing to the sidewalk, screaming in agony. Karkaroff shrieked in exultation, his left arm jerking up in triumph, his fist clenched. The sleeve of his robes slipped down, revealing the black outline of the Dark Mark.
"Death Eater!" someone shouted, and the crowd scattered in terror, fearful lest the Dark Lord appear in the wake of his servant. A handful of braver souls remained, pointing their wands upward.
But Karkaroff was gone.
Harry blinked. The pain was subsiding with the removal of the offending wand. He looked up, saw Karkaroff Apparate onto a nearby roof. He tried to warn the others, but he had no strength to speak.
Karkaroff screamed, "Avada Kedavra!" A lance of green fire pierced a wizard between the shoulders. He fell dead not ten feet from Harry.
The remaining witches and wizards whirled, shouting, "Stupefy!" or "Expelliarmus!" But Karkaroff had Disapparated again.
Harry rose on trembling legs, drawing his wand with fingers still tingling with electricity. But even as he swept the rooftops with blurred vision, he heard Karkaroff cry out again, saw the deadly flash of green light. A witch collapsed onto the cobbled steet.
Turning instinctively in the direction from which the green light had come, Harry raised his wand shakily.
"Expelliarmus!"
Harry's wand flew from his hand.
Summoning all the courage remaining within him, Harry lifted his head. The street all around him was now deserted save for the dead. But this he noted only peripherally; his gaze was locked on the figure standing once again on the roof of the Three Broomsticks.
Karkaroff's eyes blazed maniacally; foam flecked his short beard. He pointed his wand directly at Harry.
Now, abrupty, the dream slowed. What transpired in the space of a heartbeat seemed drawn out into an eternity of frozen images, one following another like photos in an album, yet all occurring in the same instant: A peal of insane laughter; a slapping of running feet on cobblestones; a dark form, indistinct, slamming into him, knocking him down; his head striking something hard and sharp, sending waves of hot pain through his spine; a harsh voice screaming; a flash of green light.
There was a rushing in Harry's ears, as of waves on a rocky shore, magnified. His vision was blurred, his glasses fallen from his face. He thought to see two wizards standing on a rooftop, their wands pointing down at something. People were milling about now. Someone was bending over him. He saw mouths moving, as if in speech, but he heard only the rushing in his throbbing brain. Dizzy, he closed his eyes.
Harry opened his eyes after what seemed only a moment. He beheld a tall wizard with flowing white hair and beard. This one was bending down not far from Harry. He saw the man shake his head slowly -- sadly, it seemed. Straining his eyes with an effort, Harry saw what appeared to be a crumpled human form at the man's feet. Even as he watched, the old wizard rose, pointed his wand downward. White ribbons flew from the wand-tip, wrapped themselves around the still figure until it was completely swathed, mummy-fashion.
Harry tried to rise, but a wave of fire pulsed through his head and he sank back down. The white-bearded man was standing over him now, pointing his wand. Was he, Harry, to be mummy-wrapped also? Did that mean he was --
Suddenly the hard surface under Harry became soft, eliciting an involuntary release of breath from him as his discomfort eased. He was floating on a stretcher which now glided past the shops of Hogsmeade. He glimpsed faces peering down at him, their eyes deep-set and sad.
Harry had so many questions, but sorting them in his head made him very tired. He closed his eyes.
*
Harry leaped up in bed. He must have cried out, for he was suddenly surrounded by people. He was confused. Where was he? What --
"Lie back, Harry," said a soft voice.
Harry relaxed instinctively. Even in his dazed state, he had no difficulty recognizing the voice of Albus Dumbledore.
"Where..." Harry rasped. "What..."
"You are in the hospital wing at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said.
"How did I -- "
Then, like a flood bursting from a dam, it all came back to him. The dream. Karkaroff. The Killing Curse. The blurred form striking him --
A mournful cry tore agonizingly from Harry's lips. The images in his tortured brain crystalized, playing in his mind's eye in slow motion, frame by frame, sharp and clear. He saw the running form, felt it knock him out of the path of the green beam of death, saw it fall limply in a tangle of black robes and...and...wild, bushy brown hair!
"NO!" Harry screamed, clawing at his sheets. "NOOOOOOO! HERMIONE!!"
Disclaimer: Every person, place and thing in this story belongs to J.K Rowling. I'm not making any money on it, nor will I ever. Honestly -- who would ever PAY to read THIS?
In the stillness of a Hogwarts night, Harry dreamed.
He was in Hogsmeade, standing in front of the Three Broomsticks. Witches and wizards of all variety passed by, as well as magical creatures of decidedly non-human nature. Harry ignored them. He was looking at his watch for the dozenth time.
Where was Hermione?
Harry shrugged impatiently. He knew she would be late; she'd suddenly remembered something and told Harry to go to Hogsmeade without her, promising to catch up. Knowing Hermione as he did, Harry knew that "something" could be as trivial as a shopping list, but just as easily could involve a trip to the library, in which case she could easily have lost track of the time and forgotten their date altogether.
But speculation was pointless. Harry had dutifully ordered drinks, consumed first his and then hers, and now stood vigil on the sidewalk, casting occasional glances toward the path leading to Hogwarts.
Harry sighed, shook his head wearily, and checked his watch yet again --
A scream rent the air. Harry looked up, alert, his hand poised to draw his wand. A gaggle of witches and wizards stood with eyes wide and mouths agape, some pointing with trembling fingers at a spot above and to Harry's right. He turned in the direction indicated -- then he froze.
Igor Karkaroff stood on the roof of the Three Broomsticks. His bearded face was split in a wide, yellow-toothed grin. His eyes were black points of pure malevolence. His wand was pointed at Harry's heart!
Galvanized to action, Harry reached for his wand in a lightning motion,but --
"Crucio!"
Harry fell writhing to the sidewalk, screaming in agony. Karkaroff shrieked in exultation, his left arm jerking up in triumph, his fist clenched. The sleeve of his robes slipped down, revealing the black outline of the Dark Mark.
"Death Eater!" someone shouted, and the crowd scattered in terror, fearful lest the Dark Lord appear in the wake of his servant. A handful of braver souls remained, pointing their wands upward.
But Karkaroff was gone.
Harry blinked. The pain was subsiding with the removal of the offending wand. He looked up, saw Karkaroff Apparate onto a nearby roof. He tried to warn the others, but he had no strength to speak.
Karkaroff screamed, "Avada Kedavra!" A lance of green fire pierced a wizard between the shoulders. He fell dead not ten feet from Harry.
The remaining witches and wizards whirled, shouting, "Stupefy!" or "Expelliarmus!" But Karkaroff had Disapparated again.
Harry rose on trembling legs, drawing his wand with fingers still tingling with electricity. But even as he swept the rooftops with blurred vision, he heard Karkaroff cry out again, saw the deadly flash of green light. A witch collapsed onto the cobbled steet.
Turning instinctively in the direction from which the green light had come, Harry raised his wand shakily.
"Expelliarmus!"
Harry's wand flew from his hand.
Summoning all the courage remaining within him, Harry lifted his head. The street all around him was now deserted save for the dead. But this he noted only peripherally; his gaze was locked on the figure standing once again on the roof of the Three Broomsticks.
Karkaroff's eyes blazed maniacally; foam flecked his short beard. He pointed his wand directly at Harry.
Now, abrupty, the dream slowed. What transpired in the space of a heartbeat seemed drawn out into an eternity of frozen images, one following another like photos in an album, yet all occurring in the same instant: A peal of insane laughter; a slapping of running feet on cobblestones; a dark form, indistinct, slamming into him, knocking him down; his head striking something hard and sharp, sending waves of hot pain through his spine; a harsh voice screaming; a flash of green light.
There was a rushing in Harry's ears, as of waves on a rocky shore, magnified. His vision was blurred, his glasses fallen from his face. He thought to see two wizards standing on a rooftop, their wands pointing down at something. People were milling about now. Someone was bending over him. He saw mouths moving, as if in speech, but he heard only the rushing in his throbbing brain. Dizzy, he closed his eyes.
Harry opened his eyes after what seemed only a moment. He beheld a tall wizard with flowing white hair and beard. This one was bending down not far from Harry. He saw the man shake his head slowly -- sadly, it seemed. Straining his eyes with an effort, Harry saw what appeared to be a crumpled human form at the man's feet. Even as he watched, the old wizard rose, pointed his wand downward. White ribbons flew from the wand-tip, wrapped themselves around the still figure until it was completely swathed, mummy-fashion.
Harry tried to rise, but a wave of fire pulsed through his head and he sank back down. The white-bearded man was standing over him now, pointing his wand. Was he, Harry, to be mummy-wrapped also? Did that mean he was --
Suddenly the hard surface under Harry became soft, eliciting an involuntary release of breath from him as his discomfort eased. He was floating on a stretcher which now glided past the shops of Hogsmeade. He glimpsed faces peering down at him, their eyes deep-set and sad.
Harry had so many questions, but sorting them in his head made him very tired. He closed his eyes.
Harry leaped up in bed. He must have cried out, for he was suddenly surrounded by people. He was confused. Where was he? What --
"Lie back, Harry," said a soft voice.
Harry relaxed instinctively. Even in his dazed state, he had no difficulty recognizing the voice of Albus Dumbledore.
"Where..." Harry rasped. "What..."
"You are in the hospital wing at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said.
"How did I -- "
Then, like a flood bursting from a dam, it all came back to him. The dream. Karkaroff. The Killing Curse. The blurred form striking him --
A mournful cry tore agonizingly from Harry's lips. The images in his tortured brain crystalized, playing in his mind's eye in slow motion, frame by frame, sharp and clear. He saw the running form, felt it knock him out of the path of the green beam of death, saw it fall limply in a tangle of black robes and...and...wild, bushy brown hair!
"NO!" Harry screamed, clawing at his sheets. "NOOOOOOO! HERMIONE!!"