NOTES: I would like to take this opportunity to urge all writers with good ideas, plot bunnies, or current and ongoing stories to continue to explore their divergent from Book Five plot lines. I love those stories, some of which I have recommended in previous chapters as much as I loved Fifth Book which had me in tears. I also urge you all to explore the post Book Five world as well. Don't hold back. Write, read, create, imagine, share. We're reading.
As for this story in context with books one through five? Already you know that Sirius's past is different in neutral's universe as are our take on the characters. Just because we have some more background on the Marauder's era doesn't mean that I will be changing my portrayal of any of them. Go with what you have read in neutral's stories and previous chapters. As for plot development . . . nothing has changed in this chapter which I wrote long before Fifth Book and my plan for following years is only very very slightly affected. So as you read, assume nothing.
This chapter is dedicated to one of my favorite characters in the Harry Potter universe. You know who I mean.
*****
CHAPTER XI: Face Off
*****
Straining, still shaking with the feeling of ice flowing in her veins, Hermione scrambled over the burnt vines of Devil's Snare to pull herself and the dead weight that was Ron Wesley up from the trap door. Her hand slipped for an instant and with a cry she nearly fell when strong fingers grasped her wrist. Someone, an immensely tall and strong someone, took Ron from where he lay slumped against her shoulders and pulled them out as if they weighed nothing.
She looked up and found herself facing the imposing features of Severus Snape.
"You!" Hermione gasped. "But--but you're supposed to be-- I mean . . ."
But the Professor was already checking on Ron. "Miss Granger--"
"No!" she cut him off, grabbing hold of his robes, trying to get his attention. "You don't understand! I know we're going to be expelled but Harry's down there!" she said desperately. "We got here too late! Someone had already got past Fluffy." The dog was still asleep, the harp had been re-enchanted to play softly. "I got them out of the Devil's Snare, Harry caught the key, and R-Ron," Hermione fought back tears, remembering Ron's pale face as the White Queen took him. "Harry had to be the one to go on. I was sure of it and so was Ron. I know you hate him, and sort-of-tried-to-hex-him-off-his-broom," she added in a rush "but you have to help him! You have to get Professor Dumbledore back! You-Know-Who wants the Stone!"
"Be quiet, you foolish girl," the Potion Master spat, shaking off her hand. He finished his examination of the unconscious redhead and reached out and grasped her chin, tilting Hermione's face to catch the faint torchlight from the corridor, checking for . . . something. His fingers felt unusually warm against her still icy skin. "Hmph." Releasing her, he moved to the trapdoor, drawing his wand. "Take Mr. Weasley to the Infirmary. I've already sent an owl for the Headmaster."
Hermione pulled out her wand and cast the charms that had her friend floating beside her. "You-you'll help Harry?" she couldn't help but ask.
"GO!" Snape yelled.
Hermione ran.
*****
Harry descended the steps into the final chamber even as flames blocked the path behind him, eyes never leaving the collected, no longer flustered Professor Quirrell.
The conversation in the Forbidden Forest he'd overheard with Snape, the Potion Master's own half warning half threat, the troll . . .
The pieces were finally falling into place, and still, there was something else missing from this picture . . . something from a dream . . .
A head rolling down stone steps.
A woman's screams.
A hat whispering, hissing in his ear.
Green light.
There remained something more.
Harry did not draw his wand, made no threatening moves. He pushed aside the fear gnawing in his gut, the dull throb of his scar.
He would wait.
"You don't look very surprised," Quirrell said with a laugh.
"Fainting at Halloween was a bit over the top," Harry replied with perfect calm as he managed to take stock of the large stone room they were in, complete with a familiar gilded mirror.
But no sign of the Stone, Harry realized with a sigh of relief. There remained one more trap, one more test. It had taken all three of them but he'd gotten here before the end.
"If only you'd done my Master the favor of falling to your death during the Quidditch match we wouldn't have to deal with this pointless fighting," Quirrell said in an oily tone. "However, you're not too big of an obstacle," he said slyly. "A first year against a professor who is not quite the trembling rabbit everyone thought." He smiled condescendingly. "Not much of a challenge, especially if he's been having trouble with his wand."
Harry froze inside. So someone had noticed.
The Professor turned his back to Harry, a clear sign that the Gryffindor's presence was a mere annoyance, not a threat.
The boy forced himself not to act. Too soon, too soon something whispered in his ear. It wasn't time yet. If the Mirror of Erised caught the Professor in its spell, Harry need only sit and wait until Dumbledore came and took care of the man. And if Quirrell found the Stone . . .
Harry wouldn't let him leave the room.
"I see the Stone . . . I'm presenting it to my Master . . ." Quirrell said dreamily, lost in the reflection of his hearts desire. "But. WHERE. IS. IT?" He snarled, banging his fist against the mirror.
"Use the boy," a whisper, a slither of a voice echoed. "the boy."
And Harry's scar began to burn. He looked around anxiously, breath catching painfully in his throat.
He wasn't outside the castle, not anymore, he realized with growing dread.
He was here.
"Potter!" Quirrell snapped, whirling around to face him and Harry jumped. "Come here."
He felt his feet drag him unwillingly forward as if a giant hand was pushing him inexorably towards the mirror.
And this was his role, this was why he had to be here . . .
It was a horrible thing about Seeing. Once you Saw the future, choice seemed rather a moot point.
Steeling himself for facing the Mirror, Harry tried desperately to control his wildly beating heart. He'd be lying if he said that he didn't want to look again, he had thought of it often, hadn't wished he could simply let the castle lead him back to that wonderful picture of Sirius and his Dad, his Mum and Remus, but if the mirror shows us what we desire most, will it show me finding the Stone? Or will it show me my family?
And no matter what I see, is war inevitable?
Harry stepped before the glass, Professor Quirrell standing right behind him, the fowl smell of the man filling his senses, crawling across his skin, causing him to shudder.
He saw only himself at first, pale, scarred, his sweater was torn, his trousers scuffed and dirty. His reflection smiled and nodded at him and then put his hand in his pocket and drew out a blood red stone. Winking, his double put it back.
And the weight of it was real in Harry's pocket.
He had the Philosopher's Stone.
"What do you see?" Quirrell demanded impatiently.
I must lie.
"I-I see myself . . . I've won the Quidditch cup . . ."
Quirrell cursed, pushing him aside. "Get out of the way!"
Harry fell hard. Ignoring the pain in his arm and side, he hurriedly got him self up and edged carefully, cautiously back to the doorway, the Stone bumping against his leg.
Just a few more steps.
And then that voice, the very sound of it made Harry's head ache--
"He lies, he lies!"
no, no, no
"Potter!" roared Quirrell and Harry whirled around to face the man.
He couldn't let him have it, he couldn't! He'd fight, he'd--
"Let me . . . let me see him . . ."
And Harry watched in horror as the Professor undid his turban, and he would have screamed if his throat didn't feel as if someone had clawed hands around it. There was something, something terrible on Professor Qui-
(something more alive than silence)
The man turned, dropping purple cloth to the floor, and Harry fought down a cry.
"Harry Potter . . ." the face on the back of the Professor's head whispered.
Harry wanted to scramble back, just get away, get away from the horrible half formed features living off of Quirrell, that misshapen face, that half dead thing feeding, leeching, infecting--
no, no, no
This was what he'd seen in the Forest. This was the--the thing that had murdered his parents.
And it was different-- it shouldn't have been. He'd faced this Dark Wizard before, faced him and beaten him when he and his family had been pulled into that other time, other place.
But just like the James Potter he met there was not his father, the wizard he'd faced down was not his mortal enemy, his opposite, the man whose very fate seemed inexorably tied to his own for reasons he still couldn't fathom.
This man was.
This man was the reason for his being.
Voldemort.
"See what I've become," the creature said mournfully in a high scratchy voice that was sickeningly familiar. "See what you have reduced me to? I want that Stone in your pocket. Why don't you give it to me?"
So he knew.
Harry somehow managed to shake his head. "No," he said in a quavering voice.
"Don't be a fool," the creature hissed. "Your mother was. She didn't have to die. Neither do you, boy. Imagine what we could do together. Imagine the miracles we could create, the world we could shape."
Harry raised his chin, clenching his fists. "I've seen your world. I want none of it."
"Stupid child," he spat. "You don't understand. There is no good or evil, only power and those too afraid to take it. Join me and save your own life or *die* . . . begging, screaming for my mercy like your pathetic parents."
Shaking in fury, Harry shouted "NEVER!"
And Voldemort screamed "SEIZE HIM" and Quirrell whirled around and flew towards him, faster than thought, shoving him into the wall of flame which licked at Harry's sweater, catching it alight.
Harry scrambled away, throwing himself down the steps, rolling, trying to put out the fire. But there was little time with Quirrell bearing down on him. Harry scrambled to his feet, but was knocked down hard, large hands grasped so tight against his wrists he felt the bones rubbing against each other.
Trying not to yell out, the pain of his scar grew. Gritting his teeth, Harry fought to get out from under the man, trying to wrench his hands free before Voldemort could get the Stone.
But to his surprise, without any spell or successful struggle on his part, Quirrell let go of him, scrambling back, screaming, staring at his hands, watching in horror as the flesh began to smolder to ash. Harry tried to get to his feet, half blind with pain, blood dripping from his scar, the smell of burning flesh making him sick.
"W-What? M-Master what i-is--?" Quirrell stuttered.
"SEIZE HIM! SEIZE HIM!" Voldemort shrieked, his voice rising in pitch painfully and Harry pressed his hands over his ears trying to block out the sound that seemed to set both his scar and blood afire in his veins. He knew that voice, he knew that laugh, it had haunted his dreams all year.
The Professor grabbed Harry again, hands closing round his neck, yanking him up. But Harry didn't struggle. He smelled the familiar sickening scent of cooked meat, reached up and pressed his hands to Quirrell's face.
Quirrell howled in agony. And this was too confusing, this was backwards, and memories from when he was very little now pressed about him--
"It burns, Master! It burns! I can--cannot hold him, my hands, my fa-AAAAAAAGRH! It burns! It--AAAAHHH!"
"Then kill him! Kill him!" Voldemort screamed into his ear.
Harry's hands slipped for a moment-- he couldn't breath! --dark magic, familiar like a sticky fog, grew around them but Harry focused, and the fire beneath his skin was his, was him-- "IT BURNS!! MASTER!"--and the light poured out, it sparkled in the darkness of his fading vision-- he was choking, he couldn't see, but he fought for purchase, trying to reach Voldemort through Quirrell's very skin, trying to burn the monster out of the man.
Quirrell dropped him, screaming and screaming and screaming as he held his ruined hands to his crumbling face. Harry stumbled, coughing, gasping for air. Reaching out, his only thought to get to Voldemort, to stop him, he ignored the rising bile in his throat, the pain lancing across his forehead, his back, and grabbed hold of the man's arm and held on as tight as he could, wasn't going to let go--
"KILL HIM! KILL HIM!"
(I have a prophecy)
and then there was someone calling his name
"Potter! Harry!"
(threatening to spill into words)
but he didn't listen, and Quirrell was still screaming and screaming and screaming and the smell of burning filled the air and Harry choked on it, and someone was laughing, laughing and screaming
"Not Harry! Please not Harry!"
(this growing certainty)
and Quirrell's arm crumbled to nothingness beneath his touch
there was nothing left to hold onto
and Harry was lost to the blackness, and he was falling, falling and there was no broom, no wind, no wings, no air to hold him up and then only darkness.
*****
"Severus!" came the hoarse cry. The Potion Master ignore it and the hands helping him up out of the trap door in the floor.
"Oh, Sweet Merlin!"
"Blood! There's blood! He's bleeding!"
"Is he-is he?"
"Get out of the way," Snape snarled, pushing past the various staff members still in their bedclothes and dressing gowns. With a quick ground eating stride the Professor made his way to the Hospital Wing the crumpled form of one Harry Potter an insubstantial weight in his arms.
Professor McGonagall hurried to keep abreast with the Head of Slytherin, Professors Flitwick and Sprout trailing. "Oh, Severus. That foolish boy. He was in my office earlier making up some story that someone was after the Stone. Did he get caught in one of the traps?"
"No," he growled in reply as he pushed open the doors to the infirmary. "Poppy!" he yelled. "Poppy!"
The nurse looked up from where she was tending to Ron Weasley, Hermione hovering by his side. The bushy haired girl took one look at the Potion Master carrying the broken and bleeding Boy Who Lived and burst into tears.
"Oh Harry! Is he all right?"
"All three of you? Again?" Professor McGonagall sputtered furiously grabbing Hermione by the arm, shaking her. "How dare you! I thought I made myself perfectly clear that if I caught any of you out of bed after hours it would be expulsion-!"
"Place him here Severus, and then move aside." Efficiently, Madam Pomfrey directed Professor Snape to lay his burden down on one of the cot beside the still unconscious redhead.
"I can't find Quirrell anywhere!" Madam Hooch called as she joined the group in the infirmary. "Where the devil has he run off to now?"
Snape chuckled darkly.
"Severus, if you could please let me work!" Madam Pomfrey demanded trying to work around the man.
"One moment," he said sharply. "Ah-ha," he murmured and drew out a blood red stone from Harry's pocket.
Silence descended with gratifying swiftness.
"The Stone," whispered Professor Flitwick. "But h-how . . . ?"
"Who was it, sir? Who was the traitor?" Hermione asked Professor Snape urgently, pulling away from the gaping transfiguration teacher. "Who was after the Stone if . . .?"
"If it wasn't me you mean?" More than just Hermione looked abashed by that question. Snape snorted derisively. "Quirrell." He stood handing the glowing item over to Madam Hooch who wrapped it carefully into one of the laundered pillowcases piled around the Infirmary.
"Quirrell?" Madam Hooch laughed. "You must be joking."
"I suggest you go down the trapdoor and examine his remains yourself," Snape replied tartly.
"Remains?" Professor Sprout covered her mouth with her hand in shock.
"Yes, remains," he said evilly, taking dark delight in the Head of Hufflepuff's sickening expression. "He appears to have been burned alive. From the inside out. Perhaps Miss Granger can explain in more detail how that could have occurred since she knows so much."
Hermione swayed on her feet still taking in the news that stuttering Professor Quirrell was the traitor, was the one who was after the Stone all along. "The troll, of course, the troll" she said faintly, fumbling behind her for one of the cots. Professor Sprout helped the girl shakily sit down
Completely bewildered, the various staff members stared at each other.
"They've been sneaking about since the beginning of the year, interfering where they shouldn't have," Professor Snape explained bitterly. "And this is the result," He said gesturing to the two boys in infirmary beds. "Potter getting his friends almost killed."
Hermione jumped to her feet, indignation giving her reserves of strength she didn't know she had. "No, It wasn't like that!"
"Be quiet Miss Granger. If you--"
"No! He would have taken it to You-Know-Who, would have taken it out to the Forest," Hermione cut him off. "Harry said-- Harry said if He got the stone there would be nothing we could do, that we had no choice, that it was to be tonight. He didn't want us to come with him! And we tried to tell you, we tried," she continue, voice rising, whirling around, eyes wild, focusing now on each of the stunned members of the staff in turn. "But you wouldn't listen!"
"And that somehow gave you the right to break a dozen school rules?" the Potion Master queried with obvious sarcasm. "I think not."
"Now, now Severus. If-if it wasn't for these three the Stone would be in the hands of You-Know-Who," Professor Flitwick said anxiously.
"Yet a minute ago I swore Minerva was ready to expel these three heroes for their activities."
Professor McGonagall colored brick red. "Professor Snape I resent the implication that-"
"Ah, then blatant favoritism isn't a singular trait reserved for Slytherins after all," he hissed back. "I take it all is forgiven?"
"Now is hardly the time-"
"If they hadn't acted, the Stone--"
"--they should have never--"
"That's hardly fair!"
"--too dreadful to contemplate!"
"You should contemplate it because these three obviously didn't!"
"If they hadn't snuck down--"
"--jumping in head first, no thought to the consequences or the--"
"If I could have some quiet, my patients--!"
The doors of the Infirmary slammed open for the third time that night and Professor Dumbledore and a sobbing Hagrid entered.
The Headmaster cut through his staff, dodging questions and greetings, taking possession of the stone, and sending all of the staff but Severus, Hagrid, and Pomfrey out of the room.
Dumbledore then he made a beeline for the children. He offered a smile to Hermione and a handkerchief, which she accepted with a watery smile of her own, and with a whispered word sent her to sleep. He placed a hand on Ron's shoulder staring intently into the still freckled face for long moments before he was satisfied by whatever he'd seen.
And then he went to Harry.
"Poppy?" he asked quietly, watching, hovering as the nurse had Harry propped up against her, the limp form leaning forward as she waved her wand over his blistering back. Finished, the marks fading, Madam Pomfrey laid the boy back down bringing his blood and soot stained face into sharp relief.
"I've never seen a scar bleed, not one healed so," she replied quietly as she spread a healing slave on the dark ring of bruises that circled the boy's neck.
Sighing Dumbledore sat on the edge of the bed, taking one small hand in his. He looked every one of his years. "And what of Quirrell, Severus?" he asked the dark man standing at the foot of the bed.
"Dead."
"And Voldemort?"
Snape was silent for a long moment, remembering the sight that had greeted him as he'd banished the flames in the last chamber and saw past them, saw Harry and Quirrell . . .
"He was somehow . . . a part of Quirrell. He fled Quirrell's body as he died."
Smothering a gasp, Madam Pomfrey tried to focus on her patient and not so obviously on the conversation.
"And the children?"
Hagrid burst into noisy sobs, reminding everyone that he was in fact still in the room. "It's-all-my-ruddy-fault! I told that evil git how to get past Fluffy, the only thing he didn't know, an' I told him. Harry here came askin', he and Ron put it all together! I didn' realize . . . they all could o' died! And after they spent all that time helpin' me with Norbert! I should be given the sack, I should!"
He dug a massive handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose explosively.
"Calm yourself, Hagrid. Voldemort played to all our weaknesses, it's what he does best." The Headmaster handed the Stone over to the Potion Master. "If you would send an owl to Nicholas informing him that we will have to go with our original plan after all. Hagrid, if you could ask Minerva to firecall Sirius. I believe he and Remus will wish to be here for Harry."
"O' course," Hagrid said snuffing, leaving after one last look at the children.
Both men watched in silence a Madam Pomfrey finished applying salve to the bruises on Harry's wrists, face, his thin chest. The scrapes and cuts were disinfected, several of the deeper ones bandaged, the fractured ribs wrapped tight, and the blood washed off Harry's pale face, neck, and hands. Dumbledore helped her ease the small boy into bed clothes. She left a sole candle burning and after checking on Ron and tucking Hermione in, she left the alone, knowing better than to stay and listen.
"Albus," Snape said carefully from the shadows "if you knew-"
"But I didn't, Severus," Dumbledore said quietly from where he sat. "I am not omniscient no matter what people may believe. I only knew the letter to be a distraction upon finally having a chance to speak with Cornelius. If you mean that Voldemort was in the castle, I was just as surprised as you."
"But to encourage Potter," he spat. "And him dragging his so-called friends headlong into danger, allowing him free reign to act as recklessly as--"
"What I did or did not do to aid Harry made precious little difference. He had already solved most of it by Christmas. He has an insatiable curiosity which has only flourished during his time here as I had hoped. Hogwarts is quite fond of him, as are his yearmates. I am very glad that he made friends. I fear that this," he said gesturing towards the Stone in the other man's hand "was in fact his sole reason for attending school at all. He Saw that he was needed, though he didn't know for what or why or when. It prompted and pressed at him all year. And so Harry came here to blindly face his dream. He came to attend Hogwarts because of what he Saw, and for that purpose alone."
"So that mongrel Black has been filling his head with delusions of his own self importance, with arrogance just like his father, and he's eaten it up-" Severus said in obvious disgust.
"No, Severus," the Headmaster countered sadly. "Harry's guardians and myself have been trying for over two years now to undo something that, I suppose from a twisted perspective, is my fault. Someone," he said heavily "convinced this dear boy that the only excuse for him outliving his parents was to kill Voldemort, nothing more. That he was worth consideration only insofar as he was a willing to be a tool, a weapon to be wielded and discarded, and that he should be grateful for it."
Silence was the only reply to that revelation. Behind him, Dumbledore heard the Head of Slytherin fade back into the darkness and take his leave. Returning his attention to Harry, he sat watch over the children in the darkest hour of the night.
*****
"WHAT?"
The yelling woke Remus. He raised his head from his desk, and blinked in the darkness of his study. It sounded like Sirius, he thought muzzily.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU PLAYING AT?"
That was Sirius. Jumping up, Remus came running and saw McGonagall in the fire. Sirius was pale faced, looking like death. He staggered back missing the chair completely as he attempted to sit.
The transfiguration professor looked on sadly.
Remus moved forward worriedly, grabbing Sirius's arm. There was only one thing that could cause this type of reaction in Padfoot, he realized with growing dread.
"Harry," he asked desperately. "What happened to Harry?"
"He's alive, exhausted and resting. He'll be fine," McGonagall said quickly. Moony stared down at Sirius's stunned face. There was more to this story, Remus knew it.
"Padfoot?" he asked quietly.
"Voldemort," Sirius's voice rasped harshly. Remus suppressed a flinch as did McGonagall. After 6 years in Azkaban the name no longer frightened Sirius, precious little did. "Voldemort had someone at Hogwarts. All. Year. Harry fought him, stopped him, he was attacked, would have been killed, the traitor dead, Harry was forced to . . . Dumbledore wasn't even there! Snape found him! SNAPE!" Sirius was now roaring.
Jumping to his feet he pointed his finger accusingly at the figure in the fire. "Where were you? You, the Head of his House! You said he tried to warn you, came to you. Did you ignore him? Tell him not to worry?" McGonagall flushed darkly with guilt. "Damnit woman! Don't you realize that Harry thinks it's his DUTY to stand against that monster and his followers? That it's taken years to even begin to convince him otherwise? And you didn't. Listen. To. Him?!"
"Padfoot, please calm down. Harry's going to be fine. We'll go to see him--"
Remus looked at the clock which showed Way Past Bedtime for him and Sirius. Harry's was firmly stuck between Mortal Peril and Hospital. Moony gulped. God, why hadn't he noticed?
"Tomorrow." he said hurriedly, stepping in front of the family clock so that Sirius couldn't see Harry's hand. "He's safe. We'll go early tomorrow morning and see him. He's probably fast asleep right now. He'll wake up and he'll see us there and everything will be better."
"Sirius, I promise you he's resting quietly. The threat is gone," Minerva said anxiously.
"There threat should never have been there to start," Sirius spat at his old teacher "Harry doesn't lie! Harry never lies! You should have believed him." He yanked his arm free of his friend he stalked out of the room.
"Still hot tempered," McGonagall joked weakly, relieved that the hardest part of the firecall was over. Sirius may not have been the mass murderer he was accused of being, but no one could deny the sheer strength and intensity of a man who held onto his sanity in Azkaban for six years.
Remus turned his amber eyes slowly to the fire, pinning the witch there. "Tell me from the start, Professor," the werewolf said coldly as he settled himself in the chair by the fire, steepling his fingers, the very picture of attentiveness bellying the icy fury that tinged his precise words. "Tell me how one of the Dark Lord's agents got into Hogwarts unnoticed and why Harry was the only one there to stop him."
McGonagall gulped noticeably. Perhaps she had relaxed too soon.
*****
Sirius couldn't sleep. He didn't even bother to try. He stood in the middle of his room, fists clenched, breathing hard, angry so angry.
Why?
Why was it always Harry?
He paced his room, six and a half steps east, turn, six and a half steps west, the precise dimensions of his cell in Azkaban which he had paced over a hundred thousand times, thoughts twisting his mind into knots, fury growing in his belly.
This was unacceptable. Unacceptable!
Harry was not supposed to be fighting trolls and saving mystical stones. Harry was supposed to be having fun, studying, playing Quidditch.
That's what Hogwarts was for, not death defying battles! Especially not for little boys like Harry!
No, enough was enough. He should have stood firm last summer. There was no need for Harry to go to Hogwarts, especially when he was having one of his visions.
Well this time he would, Sirius told himself fiercely. Harry was coming home now where it was safe and that was that.
Halting his frantic pacing he focused and apparated with a pop.
*****
Sirius swept like a pale ghost through the dim halls of Hogwarts towards the infirmary.
He came at last to his boy laying straight and pale and small and so unnatural in a little infirmary cot. Harry had always curled up in his sleep, taking up the smallest space possible even in his giant bed back home. It always made Sirius's heart ache, a remnant of that hateful dusty cupboard under the stairs where Harry was locked in the dark.
For a moment Sirius hesitated at touching his godson. In the other beds there was a redhead boy Sirius easily recognized from Harry's many letters as Ronald Weasley, a bandage wrapped around his forehead, his left arm in a sling. Across the room curled up under some of the sterile sheets was a girl with bushy hair, a handkerchief clasped loosely in one hand. This could only be Hermione Granger. They lay sleeping, but Harry, Harry was still like death.
Unnerved, wanting to ensure his senses that Harry was indeed alive, Sirius reached out and touched Harry's face with the back of his hand. The soft breath, the warmth, reassured him and he was suddenly propelled into action.
He scooped up the limp form, bedclothes and all and simply walked out of the infirmary, out of Hogwarts, passed the wards, and smiling softly at his godson, he apparated them both home.
Quietly, Sirius climbed the stairs past Moony's closed door and into Harry's room, untouched since Christmas. Shifting Harry negligible weight in his arms he pulled down the covers and lay the boy in his own bed.
Brushing the wild inky hair back, he noted in the faint light the tender scrapes, the blood red scar, the faint healing burns, and the purpling bruises on his child's face.
"Harry?" he whispered. No response. Brow furrowing, Sirius curled up, leaning against the headboard and watched over his godson well into the morning.
*****
tbc
Song lyrics from "Between" by Vienna Teng
Recommendations: Go read Fifth Book. If you've already read it, go read it again. If you've done that, go back to Book one and start all over again.
Reviews: Never have I gotten so many reviews for a chapter I threw together at the last minute. I thought of it as a filler, tying up loose ends but you guys loved it. I guess I'll just have to do even MORE cliffhangers! snicker, snicker
I got so many reviews about Sirius's reaction to the clock. I hope you found his reaction true to his wonderful character. Expect more in the next chapter.
Liara- Glad you liked the bit about Hermione. And Ron's fear of girls is only just shy of still believing in cooties. ;) As for Die Voldemort Die, I echo your sentiment but would add a few Death Eaters to the mix.
Athenakitty- I've tried to keep the trials the same except the final battle with Voldemort. As you can see, only Moony caught the clock and it was too late to do anything. Not that that is stopping Sirius! As for Harry's letter . . . wait and see.
Von- I can see Sirius installing the alarm now. Actually Harry did need Hermione and Ron. He may have a more instinctive grasp of magic and the gift from Fawkes at the end of "Of Western Stars" but he is still struggling with his wand and wandless magic is easily turned astray by careless thoughts. Harry is not a master chess player like Ron and Hermione is still a brilliant witch. It was very much a team effort.
Reiken- I think you've hit the nail on the head. Harry is both old and young as the Sorting Hat noted.
bec b- I am so glad this story exceeded your expectations. Thank you for reading.
Englishgirl- The universal gesture for escape while you can is frantic gesturing to run, run, run by waving the arms in a manner resembling Kermit the Frog's excited cheers on the Muppet Show.
Aria- Oh yeah it is not going to be pretty when Sirius and Remus confront their godson.
ChristinaLupin01442- Tell Sirius that I understand that he is worried and I hope he enjoyed his little adventure in this chapter. I'm soo flattered by a review from Paddy himself!
Go ahead and review and let me know if you liked the battle and the characters!
