Harry Potter and Gryffindor's Secret
Chapter 6: Confrontation
By: Lin-z
A/N: My plot was a bit thin, so this chapter will, hopefully, thicken it a bit. Thank you so much for continuing to read this story, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Disclaimer: As always, I do not own nor imply rights to the characters in this story. I simply borrowed them for this story. The plot is mine, but that's about it. Right, now it's on with the story.
Sirius looked to the grandfather clock across the room from where he sat sipping a lemon cream tea that was really more cream than tea. The arm marked "Harry" was still pointing to "sleeping," even though it was already a quarter past ten. He supposed Harry was taking a well-deserved lie-in; he had looked quite exhausted when he took him home yesterday. He wanted to let him sleep, but he also wanted to say good-bye to him before he had to leave for his meeting with Dumbledore and "the old crowd."
'Ah, the hell with it,' he thought to himself, 'I'll just go wake him up and he can go back to sleep later if he's all that tired.' Sirius finished the rest of his tea, cleaned the cup and saucer with a wave of his wand, and banished both to the cupboard. That done, he ascended the stairs and knocked lightly on Harry's door.
Just as he had expected, there was no reply. He gently opened the door, being very cautious so as not to make a sound. He chuckled to himself when he saw Harry. His godson was sprawled across the bed, the duvet and sheets tangled betwixt his legs. He had one arm draped over his eyes, and the other was hanging limp over the edge of the bed. It was really a very humorous sight, and he almost hated to disturb him. Almost.
He padded over to Harry's bed and sat down on the edge. He reached out and shook Harry's shoulder gently. He stirred a bit, but still did not awaken. Sirius shook him a bit harder and he began to mumble.
'Hmm … Go away, Ron…' he rolled over and pulled a pillow over his head.
As Harry became a bit more awake, he became aware that it couldn't possibly be Ron waking him, as he wasn't at Hogwarts. It was summer, so he should be at the Dursley's. But the person who was waking him wasn't yelling, so he couldn't be at the Dursley's, and besides, his bed at the Dursley's house had springs prodding him in all sorts of odd places, and this bed felt like he was sleeping on a cloud.
'Would you wake up already, sleepyhead??' Sirius said.
Sirius! It was all coming back to him now - he was at Sirius' house, and he would never have to go to his muggle aunt and uncle's house again! He pulled the pillow off his head and tossed it aside. He sat up and rubbed his eyes sleepily.
He gave Sirius a dopey smile and said, 'G'morning, Sirius!'
'And Sleeping Beauty awakens!' Sirius joked.
Harry pushed Sirius on the shoulder, and Sirius nearly toppled off the bed. 'I was tired, ok? Anyway, thanks for letting me have a bit of a lie-in,' Harry said.
'No problem,' Sirius laughed, 'I would have let you sleep longer, but I wanted to tell you that I've got a meeting this morning. It should only be about two hours, and then we can do whatever you like,' he added.
'All right,' Harry said.
'Oh, and Harry?' Sirius asked.
'Yeah?'
'Right, um, I'd prefer if you stayed inside whilst I'm gone today. You can explore the house and what not, but just don't go outside, all right?'
Harry frowned, but agreed that, given the circumstances, it probably would be safer for him inside.
'Okay, I promise. Have fun at your meeting!' he said.
Sirius smiled, 'Right,' he said. He stood up and ruffled Harry's hair, then walked to the door.
'See you, Harry,' Harry said good-bye and Sirius left.
Harry decided against going back to sleep and got up to unpack. He threw back the lid of his trunk, then stepped to the wardrobe and pulled back the doors. It looked much larger from the inside than he would have guessed from the outside, but that wasn't the part that surprised him most. The real shock came when he discovered that it was already filled with clothes! There were shirts, a couple jackets, trousers, jeans, shorts, socks … everything! He noticed a piece of parchment taped to the mirror on the inside of one of the doors, and pulled it down to read it.
Harry-
Thought you could use some new clothes after those hand-me-downs of your cousin's. These should be about your size, I had to guess. If they don't fit let me know and we'll fix them.
Sirius
Harry smiled to himself and pulled out a pair of shorts and a polo shirt. To his pleasure, they fit perfectly. Harry looked at his reflection in the looking glass.
'Very sharp, dear,' it said.
'Thanks,' he replied. He then went about finding an appropriate place to store Dudley's old clothes. His dustbin wasn't large enough, and there wasn't a fire for him to burn them in. He decided on a great plastic sack, which he hid under his bed. He placed his holiday assignments on the desk, and finished storing the rest of his belongings before heading downstairs for breakfast.
When he reached the dining room, Harry saw a breakfast of pastries, fruit, and juice spread out over the table. He ate as much as he cared to, something he wasn't used to doing during the summer. Once he had his fill, he got up to explore the mansion that was now his home.
He found loads of closets and old rooms, most of which were dusty and of very little interest. There was a trophy room, with tonnes of old trophies. It seemed Sirius and his family had been very good at muggle sports - most of the trophies were for things like polo, rugby, lacrosse, and football. There were a few quidditch trophies, and along one wall were wizard photos of people with black hair playing all sorts of sports. There was one, however, which caught his interest in particular. Sirius was standing with Remus and his father, James, and Peter. Remus, James, and Sirius' faces were covered in great splotches of mud, and were wearing tired but triumphant faces, holding up a large rugby trophy. Peter was standing beside them, smiling as well, but clean, as though he hadn't been playing with them. Harry stared at the picture as his father and his father's friends smiled waved with their free hands.
A few minutes later he found a door that opened to a set of stairs leading to a lower level. He found this odd, as he was already on the ground floor, and decided to have a look. He couldn't see the bottom of the stairs for the lack of light, so he left the door open and began to climb down the stone steps. Despite the summer heat filling the rest of the house, this old stone room was very cold. Harry folded his arms across his chest and shivered as he took the final step.
As his foot hit the stone floor below, six candles lining the walls flickered to life, illuminating what looked to be a storage room. There were a few old trunks, and all sorts of odds and ends scattered throughout. Cauldrons, scales, and glass phials littered one table. This must be where Sirius kept all of his old school things, Harry thought. He opened one of the trunks, and was startled to see letters addressed to his parents on top. As he dug a bit deeper, he found old journals that had once belonged to his parents. He pulled out his father's journal and looked at the year: 1980, the year he was born! The sound of a doorbell ringing from upstairs pulled him from his musings. He set the book back in the trunk and lowered the lid, vowing to come back as soon as he could. How better to learn what his parents had been like than from their own writings?
He headed up the stairs to the front entrance. He saw the form of a man through the leaded glass, but due to the thick, rippled quality of the glass, was unable to discern who it was. He undid the lock and opened the door. Before Harry had the chance to get a good look at whoever was standing at the door, the cowled man threw a crumpled piece of paper at Harry's face. Harry instinctively reached up and caught it before it hit him in the eye, blanching as he felt the tugging behind his navel that could only mean that the piece of paper he was now holding was actually a portkey.
As Harry disappeared, the man at the door sneaked inside. He ran up the stairs, pulling open every door until he found Harry's. He found Harry's broom and carried it down to the quidditch pitch, depositing it near the centre. When he had finished, he stepped back to the front door, closed it, and Disapparated with a small *pop. *
Harry landed in a cold stone dungeon room. By some stroke of luck he was able to remain standing as his feet slammed against the hard floor, but that was about as far as luck would take him. He looked around at his new surroundings. The ceiling was low, and the grey stone walls were covered by tapestries depicting a regal looking man who appeared to be conversing with a dozen or so fearsome looking serpents. There was no furniture in the room, and, as far as Harry could see, the only thing in there aside from himself and the tapestries was an old wooden door, knotted and warped with age. He took a step towards the door, and two backwards when he saw it swing forward.
A tall, thin man with glowing red serpentine eyes and flowing black robes entered, followed by two cowled figures in robes of deepest black. The first walked to the centre of the room facing Harry whilst the two hooded Death Eaters remained lurking at the doorway. Harry's features hardened in absolute rage as the sight of his arch-nemesis, Lord Voldemort.
'Ah, so we meet again, young Harry Potter. Absolutely corking to see you again,' he hissed menacingly.
Harry remained silent, scowling at Voldemort. His scar was burning abominably, seemingly about to rip his forehead in two, and it was all he could do to keep from wincing visibly.
'I see those muggle relatives of yours neglected to teach you manners. When an elder speaks to you, you respond. Perhaps this will help you remember a spot of respect to your superiors. Crucio!' Voldemort spat.
Voldemort smirked mirthlessly as he saw Harry squeeze his eyes shut and sink to the floor, writhing in unbearable pain. He fully expected to hear him scream, but decided he would settle for the look of exquisite agony on Harry's pale face.
Harry knew that to cry out with the pain he was now experiencing would only encourage the sadistic creature before him, so he endured the pain in silence. It felt like someone was twisting each one of the bones of his body whilst burning his skin with white-hot coals, and the scar on his forehead began to bleed a little. After a full minute that felt like an eternity, Voldemort lifted the curse. Harry felt weak and nauseous, and all he wanted to do was pass out.
Voldemort's face contorted into what was most likely meant to be a smile, but ended up looking more like a grimace. 'Not too pleasant, is it, boy?' he asked.
Harry glared up at him but remained silent.
'You WILL speak when you are spoken to, you insolent piece of filth. Crucio!' he shouted.
Once more, Harry endured the pain letting no more than a low moan escape his lips. He was left weaker than before when Voldemort released him, and struggled to his knees, panting.
'I'm looking for something, Harry, and you are going to tell me where it is,' Voldemort hissed.
'I will do nothing of the sort,' Harry replied.
'Yes, boy, I think you will find that is exactly what you will do. Now tell me, where is Salazar's spell-book?' Voldemort asked.
'I don't know, but even if I did, I would die before telling you,' Harry spat.
'For some reason, Potter, I reckon you don't. You are no use to me at the present, so I shall send you back. Please accept this as a parting gift, though,' he said.
He pointed his wand at Harry and muttered some words that were inaudible to Harry. No sooner had the words escaped his lip-less mouth, however, than Harry felt his leg crumple from under him. The pain was as though the Cruciatus curse had centred itself in his leg, and he was sure that it was broken.
'We can't have you telling anyone about our little rendezvous today, Harry. Confundus,' he said.
Harry suddenly wondered where he was. "what am I doing here?" he thought to himself.
Voldemort whispered the words to a powerful memory charm and placed a clod of dirt in Harry's hand. The black splotches in Harry's vision were expanding, and everything he heard seemed to be travelling a great distance through an echoing tunnel. There was a tugging sensation, and Harry could feel himself slam against the grassy ground of the quidditch pitch before he slipped into a merciful unconsciousness.
A/N: I know I'm an awful person for torturing Harry like that, but it was necessary to the plot. In case you were wondering why Mouldie Voldie didn't just kill Harry right then and there, it's because he needs information that Harry can't give him yet. He tortures Harry, but he can't kill him until he has what he needs. Please don't flame me, I promise there will be more fun summer chapters in the near future (Harry hasn't had his birthday yet, not to mention we haven't seen Ron or Hermione yet…)!!!!
Oh, and I've been getting questions about Harry's birth year. Here's how I figured it out: In the second book, Harry is at Nearly Headless Nick's 500th Deathday party. The year given was 1492, so 500 years would put the date at 31st October, 1992. If Harry is 12 in 1992, then that would mean that he would have had to have been born in 1980. So, you see, there is a reason! :)
Thank you so much for your excellent reviews, I was astounded at the number of reviews from the fifth chapter! I would really like to thank each of you personally, but if I did there would be an author's note just as long as the story. Please know that your individual reviews are all loved! Thanks for reading chapter 6, I'll get # 7 out as soon as possible (I can't leave Harry blacked-out on the quidditch pitch for long, I'm not that mean)! Please Review!
Lin-z