A Glimpse Into You
PG-13
Kali Kato
Harry Potter's sixth year at Hogwarts brings new mysteries, relationships, fights... and an even greater appreciation for those who love him.
WARNING: This fic contains genuine Book 5 (Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix SPOILERS. I suggest you hold off from reading this fanfic until you read J.K. Rowling's masterpiece.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The first sensation Harry noticed was that his eyelids were heavy. He felt like his body weighed more than it did, and he ached in more places then he'd like too. His brain felt numb and weak, and it didn't help that he was very hungry. Somewhere in his mind he knew he was laying on soft sheets with his head placed on a pillow--- but he didn't care. Slowly and silently he opened his heavy eyes, afraid to see what he would see, be it good or bad.
What he saw surprised him.
He was in a room colored white-- white sheets, walls, lamp shades and a white vase full of white roses greeted his eyes. He noticed pale sunlight stream through a window shut tight, white blinds pulled up. It looked very much like a Muggle home--- except for the paintings lined on the walls with pale white frames. The wizards and witches inside them were chatting gleefully and running from portrait to portrait. Then Harry noticed red, which was a high contrast from the white of the room. Somehow, he knew immediately, that the red belonged to a Weasley.
He was right.
It was much to his delight when he rubbed his eyes to find Molly Weasley in front of him. She sat in a rocking chair at the foot of his bed, snoring softly with her head propped up against a pillow. Harry smiled and noticed his glasses laying, cleaned and repaired, on the bedside table. Placing them on, he felt his vision restored from earlier. How did he get to this... place? He knew immediately this house was far away from Grimmuald-- which had been in a ruddy mess when he last saw it, and white seemed to be a color that the House of Black had never heard of. Silently, Harry sat up and ran his fingers through his matted hair, suddenly realizing he was in fresh, new pajamas. They were also two sizes too big for him. Who had dressed him? The thought of someone looking at him, starkers no doubt, caused heat to rise into his cheeks... but he quickly brushed the thought away. Not only that, but Harry was especially curious to hear from Professor McGonagall. Why had she poisoned him? Why did he hear Snape's voice before he conked out? And more importantly... where in the hell was he?
Harry wondered if the two, and maybe Mrs. Figg, had dragged him to this home and called the Weasleys over. But, why couldn't he know where he was going? Why would they go to the strange precaution of drugging him? Harry sighed and could only wish for all the answers. He pushed his legs to the edge of the bed and silently stood, his legs shaking slightly from hunger and lack of use. How long had he been out? He certainly felt like he hadn't eaten for a week. He stretched silently, not wishing to wake Mrs. Weasley (who looked downright exhausted-- her hair was messed and her apron and robe well worn), and carefully went to the door, which opened for him automatically--- he was taken back by this but continued into the hallway. The hallway, different from his bedroom, was painted a green olive, with the doorways painted a light black. It was strange, but nothing Harry hadn't seen before. Not knowing his way around, Harry crept toward a staircase, which lead up onto another floor (which, upon checking, Harry found empty and the walls colored a dark yellow). He didn't bother to check for sleeping wizards or witches in the rooms dotting the hall-- he didn't want to be caught, he had decided. The wizard portraits chatted and buzzed around, not noticing him at all. It seemed they were used to company. Harry chose to climb down the oak staircase onto the first floor of the large house.Upon checking the windows, Harry discovered the house to be surronded by a vast forest with the sun silently peeking over the tree tops. He did not recognize any of the scenery at all.
"Where am I...?" Harry asked to himself.
Harry suddenly heard the shifting of floorboards behind him.
"If you don't know, I'm not telling, kid."
Upon turning, Harry saw someone he didn't recognize. It was a man-- a tall man (much taller than any of the Weasleys) with a strong build and sharp, long face. Whiskers dotted his chin, and his cropped, untidy blonde hair flopped in front of his blue eyes in long wisps. His muscels were visible under his chesnut robes and his wand, obviously making him a wizard, hung from a chain around his middle. He was standing against the banister of the stairs, a leather tote bag in his hand. He was looking at Harry with a stare similar to McGonagall's: intense and harsh. Yet, Harry sensed that this man had a sense of humor.
"Uh, who are you?" Asked Harry, taking a step closer and trying to look taller.
"Me? Not important. You, though, you're Harry Potter," The man said at once, a sly smile starting to creep onto his lips.
"I guess I am," Harry said, feling bolder, "And you are---"
"Can I see it?" Asked the man abruptly.
"What?"
"You're mark, boy."
"Why?" Harry asked, feeling intruded upon.
"Well, Minnie's been telling me about the bloody thing for years--- how it pricks, etcetra. I'm just curious as to if it really does look like a bolt or not, that's all."
Harry, having been asked to reveal his scar to everyone he'd ever met in the wizarding world, silently pulled the fringe from his forehead. The man before him gawked at it and bent down to Harry's head, trying to get a better look. Harry felt uncomfortable, but didn't pull away.... somehow he knew this man wasn't a threat.
Behind him, he heard a door creak open.
"Blimey, why don't you two get a room?"
Harry immediately knew the voice belonged to Ron Weasley, his best friend. He turned to find Ron, taller than ever, dressed in purple striped PJ bottoms and a new Weasley jumper, his hair messed and his face weary from sleep. He had a childish grin on his face, and he looked from Harry to the man with a mildly entertained expression on his face.
"He was just curious about my scar, that's all," Harry said taking a step back and glancing at Ron with distaste. Ron, however, didn't seem to notice.
"Marriott's curious about everything," Ron said, rolling his eyes. He then began to mimic Marriott's hard voice with, "Hullo, Ron. What's Hogwarts like? How's the wheather at your burrow? How does your mum cook this or that? How does a baby survive an attack from You-Know-Who? Blah, blah, blah." Ron said, showing no shame for speaking in front of the man he was making fun of. Marriott only smiled slyly, his white teeth blazing. For a faint moment, he reminded Harry of a younger, rougher Professor Lockheart without the curled hair.
"Being curious isn't bad, mate," Marriott said, "I'd say it livens the soul. Builds your character."
"Whatever," Ron said, making a face.
Ron then looked at Harry up and down, as if deciding if he was okay or not. "You're up, eh? You've been out for four days."
"That long?" Harry asked, still wondering where he was.
"Yeah, Mum was worried sick. I think she thought you'd never wake. She insisted on sitting with you until you woke up--- Hermione too," Ron said thoughtfully.
"Hermione?" Harry grinned, "Is she here?"
"She was, but she went out with McGonagall this morning for something at Diagon Alley." He said brightly, running a freckled hand through his red hair, "Should be back later, though."
Harry's shoulders slumped. He had wanted to confront McGonagall about the events of four days ago, but now it seemed that would have to wait.
"Where are we, exactly?" Harry asked.
"We're in McGonagall's house," Ron said.
"Her house!" Harry yelled, shocked. "I didn't know she had a house!"
"Yeah, except, we're not exactly sure where it is. See, last week Mum got a call from Dumbledore. Said he was planning an emergency meeting and needed the entire Order to gather someplace safe where we'd be unheard and unseen."
"The Order is all here?" Harry said happily. The thought of seeing Lupin instead of writing to him lightened his spirits.
"Yup, everyone besides Dumbledore. Dad said he'll be coming later, dunno when though."
"Why is McGonagall's house safe... and, uh, unseen?" Asked Harry.
"Damned if I know," Marriott said, peeking around Ron at Harry. "Lived here all my life and I still don't know how to leave this mansion without using the underground passage. If you go outside into the forest, well, let's just say I was lost for ten weeks. Lived offa rats, I did," Marriott simply said. Ron made another face, but chose to ignore Marriott's remarks. "Minnie and I hid in the passage all the time from Mum and Dad, rest their souls," Marriott said, "The passage, being as dark as it is and chanted to reisist magic, is the perfect place for hide-and-seek. Poor Minne, she was always trying to Lumos her way out. Never worked, not once." Marriott plastered the same cheeky, sly grin on his face.
Harry suddenly had a very curious question pop into his mind.
"Where you drugged to get in here too, Ron?"
"Nah, my eyes were sealed shut with this curse McGonagall formed. Hermione memorized it. It hurt a bit, and they bumped us around in that old passage--- that hurt like hell. Mum said it really was darker then dark."
"Why was I drugged?" Harry asked gruffly.
"Dunno," Ron said.
Marriott leaned against the wall, and sighed. "Kids nowadays! You wizards know all about treats but not tricks. It's really easy to figure it out of you actually use your brain. Now that cutie, Hermione, she uses her brain, she does."
Ron's face twitched at that remark, and Harry knew immediately that Ron would end up hating this Mariott fellow as much as he hated Viktor Krum.
"Look here, Marriott, leave Hermione out of this," Ron said, heat rising into his cheeks.
Marriott, not hearing any of this, continued with: "She's sure got legs, that witch," he mumbled, "Yeah, legs that can wrap around you, ya know, boys," He said with a slight laugh. "Nah, you lads wouldn't know anything about THAT. You guys are just pups." Before Ron could take a side step and slam his fist into Marriott's jaw, Harry glanced up at the man.
"WHO ARE YOU?" Harry asked loudly, screwing his face.
Marriott looked very amused by Harry's sudden outburst, and grinned.
"You don't know me? You really don't know the face? The stories? The books? The newsletters? The articles of Marriott McGonagall, Beast Chaser?" He looked incredulously at Harry.
Harry rolled his eyes. Marriott reminded him more and more of Lockheart.
"No, as a matter of fact--- I don't," Harry said sharply.
"Figures," Marriott grumbled as he shrugged off Harry's remark and stumbled toward the front door. "Nobody ever remembers Marriott.... poor me." He growled, pushing a large hand through his cropped hair.
He opened the door and slammed it with a bang loud enough to wake McGonagall's entire house.
Ron and Harry waited for his form to disappear behind the shroud of the woods outside the house before exchanging a look. Who did that guy think he was?
"Who is he to McGonagall? A cousin?" Asked Harry.
Ron sighed and shook his head.
"Nah, younger brother. Strange bloke," Ron frowned.
"He's a bit dodgy," Harry agreed.
"Yeah--- Hey, let's get some breakfast," Ron suggested, rubbing his stomach.
Harry nodded and started to follow Ron around the house, his mind racing. It was then that somethingt registered with Harry:
Professor Minerva McGonagall had a brother. It was almost as scary as learning that McGonagall had a house and didn't haunt Hogwarts all year as the rumors had said.
Indeed, to Harry, it was all very interesting.
PG-13
Kali Kato
Harry Potter's sixth year at Hogwarts brings new mysteries, relationships, fights... and an even greater appreciation for those who love him.
WARNING: This fic contains genuine Book 5 (Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix SPOILERS. I suggest you hold off from reading this fanfic until you read J.K. Rowling's masterpiece.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The first sensation Harry noticed was that his eyelids were heavy. He felt like his body weighed more than it did, and he ached in more places then he'd like too. His brain felt numb and weak, and it didn't help that he was very hungry. Somewhere in his mind he knew he was laying on soft sheets with his head placed on a pillow--- but he didn't care. Slowly and silently he opened his heavy eyes, afraid to see what he would see, be it good or bad.
What he saw surprised him.
He was in a room colored white-- white sheets, walls, lamp shades and a white vase full of white roses greeted his eyes. He noticed pale sunlight stream through a window shut tight, white blinds pulled up. It looked very much like a Muggle home--- except for the paintings lined on the walls with pale white frames. The wizards and witches inside them were chatting gleefully and running from portrait to portrait. Then Harry noticed red, which was a high contrast from the white of the room. Somehow, he knew immediately, that the red belonged to a Weasley.
He was right.
It was much to his delight when he rubbed his eyes to find Molly Weasley in front of him. She sat in a rocking chair at the foot of his bed, snoring softly with her head propped up against a pillow. Harry smiled and noticed his glasses laying, cleaned and repaired, on the bedside table. Placing them on, he felt his vision restored from earlier. How did he get to this... place? He knew immediately this house was far away from Grimmuald-- which had been in a ruddy mess when he last saw it, and white seemed to be a color that the House of Black had never heard of. Silently, Harry sat up and ran his fingers through his matted hair, suddenly realizing he was in fresh, new pajamas. They were also two sizes too big for him. Who had dressed him? The thought of someone looking at him, starkers no doubt, caused heat to rise into his cheeks... but he quickly brushed the thought away. Not only that, but Harry was especially curious to hear from Professor McGonagall. Why had she poisoned him? Why did he hear Snape's voice before he conked out? And more importantly... where in the hell was he?
Harry wondered if the two, and maybe Mrs. Figg, had dragged him to this home and called the Weasleys over. But, why couldn't he know where he was going? Why would they go to the strange precaution of drugging him? Harry sighed and could only wish for all the answers. He pushed his legs to the edge of the bed and silently stood, his legs shaking slightly from hunger and lack of use. How long had he been out? He certainly felt like he hadn't eaten for a week. He stretched silently, not wishing to wake Mrs. Weasley (who looked downright exhausted-- her hair was messed and her apron and robe well worn), and carefully went to the door, which opened for him automatically--- he was taken back by this but continued into the hallway. The hallway, different from his bedroom, was painted a green olive, with the doorways painted a light black. It was strange, but nothing Harry hadn't seen before. Not knowing his way around, Harry crept toward a staircase, which lead up onto another floor (which, upon checking, Harry found empty and the walls colored a dark yellow). He didn't bother to check for sleeping wizards or witches in the rooms dotting the hall-- he didn't want to be caught, he had decided. The wizard portraits chatted and buzzed around, not noticing him at all. It seemed they were used to company. Harry chose to climb down the oak staircase onto the first floor of the large house.Upon checking the windows, Harry discovered the house to be surronded by a vast forest with the sun silently peeking over the tree tops. He did not recognize any of the scenery at all.
"Where am I...?" Harry asked to himself.
Harry suddenly heard the shifting of floorboards behind him.
"If you don't know, I'm not telling, kid."
Upon turning, Harry saw someone he didn't recognize. It was a man-- a tall man (much taller than any of the Weasleys) with a strong build and sharp, long face. Whiskers dotted his chin, and his cropped, untidy blonde hair flopped in front of his blue eyes in long wisps. His muscels were visible under his chesnut robes and his wand, obviously making him a wizard, hung from a chain around his middle. He was standing against the banister of the stairs, a leather tote bag in his hand. He was looking at Harry with a stare similar to McGonagall's: intense and harsh. Yet, Harry sensed that this man had a sense of humor.
"Uh, who are you?" Asked Harry, taking a step closer and trying to look taller.
"Me? Not important. You, though, you're Harry Potter," The man said at once, a sly smile starting to creep onto his lips.
"I guess I am," Harry said, feling bolder, "And you are---"
"Can I see it?" Asked the man abruptly.
"What?"
"You're mark, boy."
"Why?" Harry asked, feeling intruded upon.
"Well, Minnie's been telling me about the bloody thing for years--- how it pricks, etcetra. I'm just curious as to if it really does look like a bolt or not, that's all."
Harry, having been asked to reveal his scar to everyone he'd ever met in the wizarding world, silently pulled the fringe from his forehead. The man before him gawked at it and bent down to Harry's head, trying to get a better look. Harry felt uncomfortable, but didn't pull away.... somehow he knew this man wasn't a threat.
Behind him, he heard a door creak open.
"Blimey, why don't you two get a room?"
Harry immediately knew the voice belonged to Ron Weasley, his best friend. He turned to find Ron, taller than ever, dressed in purple striped PJ bottoms and a new Weasley jumper, his hair messed and his face weary from sleep. He had a childish grin on his face, and he looked from Harry to the man with a mildly entertained expression on his face.
"He was just curious about my scar, that's all," Harry said taking a step back and glancing at Ron with distaste. Ron, however, didn't seem to notice.
"Marriott's curious about everything," Ron said, rolling his eyes. He then began to mimic Marriott's hard voice with, "Hullo, Ron. What's Hogwarts like? How's the wheather at your burrow? How does your mum cook this or that? How does a baby survive an attack from You-Know-Who? Blah, blah, blah." Ron said, showing no shame for speaking in front of the man he was making fun of. Marriott only smiled slyly, his white teeth blazing. For a faint moment, he reminded Harry of a younger, rougher Professor Lockheart without the curled hair.
"Being curious isn't bad, mate," Marriott said, "I'd say it livens the soul. Builds your character."
"Whatever," Ron said, making a face.
Ron then looked at Harry up and down, as if deciding if he was okay or not. "You're up, eh? You've been out for four days."
"That long?" Harry asked, still wondering where he was.
"Yeah, Mum was worried sick. I think she thought you'd never wake. She insisted on sitting with you until you woke up--- Hermione too," Ron said thoughtfully.
"Hermione?" Harry grinned, "Is she here?"
"She was, but she went out with McGonagall this morning for something at Diagon Alley." He said brightly, running a freckled hand through his red hair, "Should be back later, though."
Harry's shoulders slumped. He had wanted to confront McGonagall about the events of four days ago, but now it seemed that would have to wait.
"Where are we, exactly?" Harry asked.
"We're in McGonagall's house," Ron said.
"Her house!" Harry yelled, shocked. "I didn't know she had a house!"
"Yeah, except, we're not exactly sure where it is. See, last week Mum got a call from Dumbledore. Said he was planning an emergency meeting and needed the entire Order to gather someplace safe where we'd be unheard and unseen."
"The Order is all here?" Harry said happily. The thought of seeing Lupin instead of writing to him lightened his spirits.
"Yup, everyone besides Dumbledore. Dad said he'll be coming later, dunno when though."
"Why is McGonagall's house safe... and, uh, unseen?" Asked Harry.
"Damned if I know," Marriott said, peeking around Ron at Harry. "Lived here all my life and I still don't know how to leave this mansion without using the underground passage. If you go outside into the forest, well, let's just say I was lost for ten weeks. Lived offa rats, I did," Marriott simply said. Ron made another face, but chose to ignore Marriott's remarks. "Minnie and I hid in the passage all the time from Mum and Dad, rest their souls," Marriott said, "The passage, being as dark as it is and chanted to reisist magic, is the perfect place for hide-and-seek. Poor Minne, she was always trying to Lumos her way out. Never worked, not once." Marriott plastered the same cheeky, sly grin on his face.
Harry suddenly had a very curious question pop into his mind.
"Where you drugged to get in here too, Ron?"
"Nah, my eyes were sealed shut with this curse McGonagall formed. Hermione memorized it. It hurt a bit, and they bumped us around in that old passage--- that hurt like hell. Mum said it really was darker then dark."
"Why was I drugged?" Harry asked gruffly.
"Dunno," Ron said.
Marriott leaned against the wall, and sighed. "Kids nowadays! You wizards know all about treats but not tricks. It's really easy to figure it out of you actually use your brain. Now that cutie, Hermione, she uses her brain, she does."
Ron's face twitched at that remark, and Harry knew immediately that Ron would end up hating this Mariott fellow as much as he hated Viktor Krum.
"Look here, Marriott, leave Hermione out of this," Ron said, heat rising into his cheeks.
Marriott, not hearing any of this, continued with: "She's sure got legs, that witch," he mumbled, "Yeah, legs that can wrap around you, ya know, boys," He said with a slight laugh. "Nah, you lads wouldn't know anything about THAT. You guys are just pups." Before Ron could take a side step and slam his fist into Marriott's jaw, Harry glanced up at the man.
"WHO ARE YOU?" Harry asked loudly, screwing his face.
Marriott looked very amused by Harry's sudden outburst, and grinned.
"You don't know me? You really don't know the face? The stories? The books? The newsletters? The articles of Marriott McGonagall, Beast Chaser?" He looked incredulously at Harry.
Harry rolled his eyes. Marriott reminded him more and more of Lockheart.
"No, as a matter of fact--- I don't," Harry said sharply.
"Figures," Marriott grumbled as he shrugged off Harry's remark and stumbled toward the front door. "Nobody ever remembers Marriott.... poor me." He growled, pushing a large hand through his cropped hair.
He opened the door and slammed it with a bang loud enough to wake McGonagall's entire house.
Ron and Harry waited for his form to disappear behind the shroud of the woods outside the house before exchanging a look. Who did that guy think he was?
"Who is he to McGonagall? A cousin?" Asked Harry.
Ron sighed and shook his head.
"Nah, younger brother. Strange bloke," Ron frowned.
"He's a bit dodgy," Harry agreed.
"Yeah--- Hey, let's get some breakfast," Ron suggested, rubbing his stomach.
Harry nodded and started to follow Ron around the house, his mind racing. It was then that somethingt registered with Harry:
Professor Minerva McGonagall had a brother. It was almost as scary as learning that McGonagall had a house and didn't haunt Hogwarts all year as the rumors had said.
Indeed, to Harry, it was all very interesting.