L'Ange Fleur
Chapter One "The Angel and the Devil"
By Lindsey Ann
Summary: Harry has always felt that no one understood him; that no one knew what those dreams where like that he had his fifth year. Now, the summer after those events, Harry meets someone who like him has been cursed. She understands because she goes through the same thing. And now with the second war going on, the wizarding world is in grave danger.
Author Notes: Well, well, well, I finally show my face in the community after like what – a few months of not doing anything? To those who wonder about I Really Do Believe That I Don't Belong Here, I've given up on it. However, if someone wants to take over the story, they're fine to do that. Just contact me on AIM at Fleur de la Ange. I may pick at it, fix grammar errors, maybe do an epilogue at the least. But I mean, err, after book five, do we really think Ginny and Malfoy would get together? He seems, I don't know, I can't say it, but now it's for sure and I can't have that hopeful feeling. And I'm sorry about that.
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Number Four Privet Drive had been unusually calm and tense at the same moment during the summer holidays. When Harry had left King's Cross Train Station he had been guaranteed at least better treatment from the Dursleys – Harry's only living relatives on his mother's side. Aunt Petunia, who was bony faced and barged in on people's business had a different way of looking Harry in the eyes, at times it seemed like there wasn't any hatred in her eyes toward him but a new feeling, compassion. Uncle Vernon stayed clear of the famous Boy Who Lived as did Dudley. They didn't want the people at the train station coming after them for mistreating the boy – so they pretended as if he didn't exist. Neither Dudley nor Vernon wanted to look Mad-Eye Moody in the eye. Harry wasn't free to do much – he could go walking and about but there was always a having to tell he was out to Aunt Petunia (he had assumed the Order was forcing her to do this). He had noticed more owls than often, as well.
Harry's two best friends Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley had contacted him, but said very little. In the wizarding world, a Second War was occurring and if owls were to be intercepted than it would be unwise to write criminating evidence for a spy mission work or something along that line. There was emptiness in Harry's heart, but he was sure that the little telling letters weren't his problem.
Sirius. The name rang in his head. Only too little ago had Harry witnessed Bellatrix Lestrange, Sirius Black's cousin, kill his godfather. Bellatrix was a death eater for Lord Voldemort – the very person who had continually failed to kill Harry. Five times he had been near Lord Voldemort and left nearly unscathed. Once as a child, his mother's blood protecting him, another time when he was just eleven years old and had found the Sorcerer's Stone that year as well. He had met up with Lord Voldemort's younger self, Tom Marvolo Riddle, in his second year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He had met up with a follower of Voldemort, Wormtail, who was a traitor to his father. During his fourth year at Hogwarts he had participated in the TriWizard Tournament and at the end of a maze touched a port key and along with Cedric Diggory came face to face with a newly reincarnated Voldemort. He even dueled with him with his wand and resisted unforgivable curses, however, while Harry survived, Cedric didn't (he had been killed by Voldemort's faithful servant, Wormtail). Just weeks ago Harry had seen Lord Voldemort and battled with some of his highest death eaters. Why couldn't Harry's godfather, who had been a very capable wizard, not manage to come out of the last event alive? Surely, wars happen and casualties do exist, but Harry would've exchanged anyone to have back Sirius. Harry would have even exchanged his best friends Ron and Hermione for Sirius. Sirius was the closest thing Harry actually had that was like a father. Vernon Dursley certainly didn't treat Harry like a son. But, Sirius, he had treated him like somewhat of a brother and somewhat like a son often telling Harry what he and James, Harry's father, had done as kids. Sirius's one fault laid in the fact that he loved Harry so much that going foolishly into battle, if it could save Harry, not worrying about his own skin. Harry began to clench his hands into fists. He wanted revenge. Bellatrix Lestrange would not come out of this war unscathed.
The worst thing was, too, in Harry's dismal summer was the fact that while he had done better in Occlumency, the dreams, they kept on. He knew he was an inch away from Voldemort fully controlling him and ousting him in someway. He hated sleep and tried his best to sleep as little as possible. So at night, Harry would focus his eyes on an essay that needed to be done for Potions or History of Magic, or Harry might've listened to the snores and rumbles of Dudley, his cousin. He'd do anything but think about sleeping. When sleep did come to him at last, it was full of pain and torture, often times he found himself awoken and his Aunt Petunia in his room, a scared, worried look on her face. She was the only one on Privet Drive who understood his dreams. She had almost acted like she hated seeing her nephew toss and turn in his sleep and sometimes vomit while he slept, moaning and groaning, muttering things in his sleep. Dudley and Vernon had both pretended, just like they did that he didn't exist, that the moaning and groaning didn't go on in the night.
Hands on Aunt Petunia's hips, early in the morning around five, a letter arrived at Privet Drive addressed to Petunia Dursley, Kitchen, Privet Drive. In it was a careful reminder about a few things. She bit her lips as she read the letter, carefully, which had been somewhat coded so that if it was intercepted, no one but she and the person who wrote it knew what it was about.
Petunia,
I understand the dreams are going on again. We are arranging a girl – in a special circumstance as your nephew to arrive at the same place he does during the summer. They will be of great help to each other. As for the dreams now, all you can do is offer a hand with him. Though nearly fourteen years of uncaring will make it take quite a while for your nephew to gain trust in you. So be there when the dreams happen, console him if needed, and in due time the boy will learn that you are on his side. Keep fervent in what you do, Petunia. May Merlin help you in times like these. Truth is like speaking in a tongue everyone understands at one point, use it.
White Wisdom
She nodded as she took in every word. "Truth," she said quietly to herself. "tell the boy – Harry – the truth about everything. Be there," her lips worded to herself. She raised her left hand to smooth out her hair as she placed the piece of parchment on the table which within seconds vanished from thin air like it had never been there. She went up the stairs and into Dudley's spare bedroom – now Harry's where she again came to face of a boy, moaning and groaning in his sleep. "You're going to make it, Potter, you're a strong a boy." Harry again shifted in his sleep this time moaning about 'Sirius... don't...' It sounded like he was reliving a horrid memory. But what did the writer mean when he said another girl went through this? Was this some sort of 'gift' for a witch or a wizard? No, it hadn't and couldn't be a gift. No, it was a curse. Petunia winced to herself and with a gentle pat on Harry's head and left for her own bedroom. "Sleep better," she mumbled as she walked off, still very tired.
Harry awoke later around 9 A.M. rubbing his hands vigorously around his scar on his head. The scar had been evidence that he had been prophesized for Lord Voldemort's demise. It was both a blessing and a curse. He couldn't help but wonder if maybe had the Dark Lord chosen Neville Longbottom – a fellow Gryffindor in his year. If Neville had been chosen – how would his life be different? First of all, his parents might have been alive. Second of all, he would have never probably known the Dursleys. Third of all, he wouldn't have his scar. But as Dumbledore had said, in the end, Voldemort picked him. He winced as he stood up – there was incredible pain on his side, he figured Voldemort had a plan foil and was now furious – near ready to kill somebody. He made his way towards Hedwig's cage. There were a few letters for him, tied to Hedwig's talons. He took the letters and began to read them.
Harry,
You're coming here soon. Be patient. Things are looking up for your arrival. See you around in a week. Have you gotten your O.W.L.s yet? How'd you do, `Mione, wants to know! She got all E's and O's (as normal.) Surprising fact, Neville (who just arrived here) got an O in Defense against the Dark Arts! I suspect you did better than `Mione, Dumbledore said you had the best grades overall in our year.
Your Friend,
Ron Weasley
Nothing of importance in the letter at all, except for the bit about Neville, maybe Voldemort should've chosen him instead? Harry wished it to be so. Neville would have been a murderer if he had been chosen. Not hard to murder someone who murdered your godfather, he thought to himself. Or it's not hard to murder someone who killed both of your parents. This was just the attitude Voldemort wanted. He shook the thoughts out of his head and began to concentrate on dressing himself. After that, slowly and surely he made his way downstairs. Waiting there was his Aunt – with the same look of compassion in her eyes – and some burnt toast and eggs.
Harry ate in silence while his Aunt cleaned up the kitchen, asking every once in a while for Harry to hand her something. By the time he had finished eating – very silently, not saying a word – the kitchen shined. When he left the kitchen his Aunt was starting making cake. But, he also wanted to walk right back into the kitchen and ask what was with the extra owls he had seen. He wanted to demand that he knew what was up. No more of this just knowing something was up. He wanted to know exactly what was up.
Harry walked back into the kitchen, his anger fuming as he saw his Aunt – bony faced and the same one who just a year ago almost forced him out of this house – he began to have his lips form words. "What's up with all of the extra owls?" His voice didn't even sound mad, just inquisitive. How could he be mad at someone who had actually awoken checking up on him when the dreams came back?
Aunt Petunia focused her eyes at a plant outside as she said lightly, "Harry, the Order has been keeping in touch," she paused. "Surely you remember that threat that freak gave us!" She said in her usual hateful and spiteful tone. Harry grimaced. I was wrong about her maybe even caring... And with that Harry walked out of the kitchen, questioning that for the past few weeks that he had been home if he had been delusional. I had to have been... Harry had left so quickly and had been in there for such a short time – not fully paying attention to the scene. Inside Petunia's hands had been a piece of parchment. If he had realized that, all of the clues would have fit together.
Harry came back in his room and thought for a long, hard time. He would only have to wait a week until he could be at the Order's headquarters (and he had assumed they had changed headquarters) – there at the headquarters he would be in a company of people who actually cared for him. Remus Lupin, Albus Dumbledore, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger – all of them were friends of his. But there would be one missing gone, forever. Sirius. Harry tried to fight tears coming to his eyes. He had never been so upset in his life. He had lost a brother, friend, and surrogate father in one shot. How could life had been so cruel? Why was it always him losing people important that were close?
Harry shook his head. He wasn't going to let anyone come close to him again, not now, not ever. Anyone who comes close to me, he concluded, dies. His mother, his father killed by Lord Voldemort when he wasn't even old enough to speak. And now Sirius was dead. It was only a matter of time before Ron and Hermione ended up dead, along with Albus Dumbledore and Remus Lupin. Or maybe not – none of them, maybe, even knew him – who he truly was. Harry looked at the sky – it was ready to rain and storm rather violently. He could feel it. The day had just begun and once again, Harry found himself sinking into a deep depression. Losing his grip – he had only had about four hours of sleep that past week – his eyes began to feel heavy as the quietly etched tears on his face. Before he knew it, he was asleep.
Harry stood there. It was the room to the Department of Mysteries. He was standing the room with the curtain, he could hear the voices. They were haunting him. He could swear he was losing his mind. He gasped for breath and slowly, but surely, felt his tongue gag and before his eyes the Dark Lord arose. The Dark Lord looked straight into his eyes and with an evil grin began to say, "Both of us can't coexist, Potter," his tongue was like a snakes and his eyes were red slits, "So let me say that I will not be the one to die in the end! Avada Kadavra!" Harry watched as a dark, thick black smoke shot out of Voldemort's arm.
"Stop it right there! Expelliarmus!" A female voice shouted at Voldemort and lost his concentration, his wand falling from his hand. Harry watched Voldemort shoot a look of disgust in an area behind Harry. Harry looked behind him to see a girl.
She was fairly tall (Harry guessed her to be 5'9 at the very least) and silvery blonde hair – much like Fleur Delacour's. Her skin also reminded him of the Beauxbaton's part-Veela. But her voice had a strong, feminine, English accent touch to it. She seemed unfearful of the Dark Lord. Her emerald green eyes sparkled with hope and confidence. She had on dark, black, and tattered – yet at the same time it gave off a soft glow – white robes. "You will not harm the boy."
Voldemort scowled at the girl, "Make me." He grinned. He was surely more powerful than her. He had summoned back his wand and now his face seemed to be permanently hunched together – a deep passion in his eyes. It was as if a Devil and an Angel were fighting against each other. Harry watched as the Angel fought heartily for his own life, while the Devil – Lord Voldemort – laughed menacingly. "You do know the prophesy, don't you?" He looked at the girl. She nodded. "Then you know you will not be around to witness the final showdown between him and I, you're only slowing his death process down." Voldemort touched his mark. "My full death eater circle will be arriving – everyone but someone who is already here." He started at the girl.
Out of the shadows came a figure of a woman. The same one who had murdered Sirius Black – Harry's godfather, someone Harry loved – was the woman now standing next to Lord Voldemort. Raising her wand and giving it a quick flick – a widening grin spreading across her face – she yelled, "Crucio!" Harry watched the girl receive the pain and the torture, her eyes beginning to form tears from the pain while both the Dark Lord and the Death Eater stood by, watching, laughing.
Harry found himself reaching for his wand. A few moments before the Crucio toture had started he seemed mute and unable to think or begin to even come up with a spell and even now words weren't being able to form in his mind. He had to do something quick, anything, that girl was going to die if he just stood by. Expelliarmus, a voice inwardly told him.
"Expelliarmus!" Harry yelled at the top of his lungs at Bellatrix Lestrange. She licked her lips with delight as she came down towards Harry - knocked out wand now summoned back in her hands. It seemed like he walk to an eternity and she was happy entirely to have the chance to be able to look him up close.
"You're the one who ruined my master and his great crusade," she said as she scowled at him. "You're the godson of the man I only killed a while ago. He wasn't my first, Potter," she spat spitefully in his face. "I was at your parent's house the day your father and mother died and the day my Lord had to go into hiding." Her hand was now tightly clenched around her wand – which was made of Black walnut and Maple wood. "I hate you with an extreme passion," a burning desire in her eyes, "you don't know what you did to me," she continued, "you scum, you might as well be a mudblood, and my cousin, he cared for you? The fool."
"Sirius is not a fool!" Harry yelled loudly at her. "You're the fool to have gotten that Mark!" He looked at her dead in the eyes – noticing her hatred flaming in her blue eyes. "Anyone who follows someone who can't even get rid of a kid who isn't out of Wizarding School should prove foolish enough! Don't say my godfather was a fool!" His anger was welling on the inside. He wanted one thing, revenge. It would be so sweet to give her the pain his godfather must have had... If only... He raised his wand.
The dark, evil wizard beat him to it, her clenched fist flicked away as she said, "Crucio," true hatred in her voice. Harry felt like his sides were about to crush. He looked over at the girl, fallen and unconscious. Voldemort began to speak.
"Let me finish him off," he said. "I waited for this day, Potter, when you would be gone. It was unwise of me to think that I could have finished you off if you are indeed truly my equal."
The prophecy, Harry thought. I have to finish him off if I want to live peacefully. Voldemort interrupted Harry's thoughts, rather rudely.
"I marked you as my equal because look at us, Potter – we are heirs to great power." He said before raising his wand. Everything went dark.
Harry awoke fiercely – he was sweating and it felt like at any moment he could cough up blood or anything near it. He grimaced. Was he watching an event that was to happen? Or was he watching something that was happening right now? Why couldn't he do Occlumency right yet? He could only wish that Professor Dumbledore – Hogwart's celebrated headmaster – would teach him more or appoint someone besides Snape to teach him. He couldn't take the dreams anymore.
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Author Notes: So did you all like it? I don't know if I should classify this as a chapter or just a prologue. Like J.K. Rowling herself I added in many hints to the plot in this chapter – though not as long or great as J.K. could write. So leave a review? It'll make my day.