Harry Potter and the Fire of Godric Gryffindor
Chapter One – Grimmauld Place
There was no breeze on days like these; days when the air is so hot, that you almost feel cold. Everyone's lawns were burnt yellow, and all the flowers that had once been so beautiful were shriveled up and dead. The sun had decided to show the first sign of summer by not hiding behind the clouds, but by shining brightly and throwing the usual red paint upon their arms, legs, and faces that stung like a bee. It was certainly going to be a very dry summer, yet Harry Potter's spirits were as dampened as they always were during these gloomy summer holidays, especially this one.
He was full of nothing now; filled with nothing but emptiness. His heart was hurting so badly, it felt as if someone had taken a knife and stabbed it right through three times in a row. No mother. No father. No godfather. What did he have left that was worth living for now? He didn't have any family left, unless you counted the Dursleys, but Harry never thought them to ever be his family. The only thing he had left was his friends. They were loyal, caring, and willing to stick by you whether it causes them to be killed or not.
All he wanted to do was get away from Privet Drive and find somewhere to live until he started his sixth year at Hogwarts. Where could he go? Not the Burrow, for there was too much happiness there, and it all seemed too good to be true. He could go to Grimmauld Place, but he wouldn't. Going to the house of his dead godfather almost felt like a sin, and everyone from the Order of Phoenix would try and cheer him up, which never worked at all. They didn't understand; no one ever did.
Many times Harry had been half done packing all his possession into his Hogwarts trunk, planning on catching the Knight Bus so he could maybe get a room at the Leaky Cauldron. He knew that Dumbledore would never let him leave Privet Drive if he had asked, so why not simply go without asking? Hadn't he proved to everyone enough that he could handle himself? He was sure that he had. Harry was sure he was breaking some sort of record, escaping Voldemort five times.
But of course they wouldn't bother to take one look at him if it weren't for the scar on his forehead, or the Prophecy that was once on a shelf in the Department of Mysteries before being shattered in front of his very eyes. That's the only reason why anyone ever befriended him, protected him, or simply even talked to him, right? Yes, that was exactly right. He knew that if he wasn't famous at all, that he wouldn't be the Boy-Who-Lived, he wouldn't get on the Gryffindor Quidditch team in his first year, he wouldn't be a part of the Golden Gryffindor Trio, he wouldn't be Dumbledore's Golden Boy, and he would've been expelled about six or seven times already. It all really made him wonder sometimes, about how his life could've been if Voldemort hadn't murdered his parents.
Harry was sick of taking orders from people who kept insisting he was still eleven years old. He had been stuck on Privet Drive for three weeks, and he hadn't received one letter at all. Mrs. Figg hadn't even asked him to stop by for tea once this entire summer. It was almost as if they were all scared to talk to him, as if they would let something accidentally slip. What was everyone trying to hide from him that was so awful? There certainly could not be anything worse then being the only person in the world who is able to kill Voldemort once and for all, and make him vanish for good.
It felt like the only reason he was so well protected was the fact that only he could get rid of Voldemort once and for all. They were only working so hard to keep him alive so he could save their own necks. If he did happen to kill Voldemort, what would happen after that? Would they still be willing to risk their lives for him? He wasn't sure he knew the answer to that. The only thing he did know was that he felt completely used.
The doorbell rang, causing Harry to jump slightly. The sound of Uncle Vernon's heavy footsteps echoed up into his room. He could hear him opening the door, and then he heard Uncle Vernon give a small yelp. Harry ran out his bedroom door and stopped at the top of the stairs.
"Harry!" Lupin exclaimed.
"Er, hi," he responded uncertainly.
"How are you?" Lupin asked him as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
"What do you think?" Harry said coolly.
Lupin looked taken aback by the way he said this, because he chose to pretend he hadn't heard him. "Er, I'm here to take you to Grimmauld Place, so go pack your trunk and we'll be out of here in ten minutes or so."
Harry abandoned him to deal with Uncle Vernon himself, who was staring at him with a look of pure terror. He entered his bedroom, feeling very angry. Why did they just choose to show up without telling him? Shoving this thought into the back of his mind, he began to pack his trunk. It only took him a few minutes, for it was already half packed considering he had almost ran away from Privet Drive a few days ago. When Harry had finished, he closed the door on Hedwig's cage, who was now sleeping soundlessly on her perch, and tucked it under his right arm, while pulling his trunk with his right hand.
"Ah, let's get going, then," Lupin said when he saw Harry lugging his trunk down the stairs.
"Right," he mumbled.
"We're going to arrive by portkey, since the Ministry is watching the Floo Network and you're too young to Apparate."
"Right," he repeated.
They walked out into the hot street, heading towards Mrs. Figg's house. Harry was so angry with everyone at the moment, so he chose not to start conversation with Lupin, causing them to walk in silence. Three weeks worth of anger was bottled up inside of him, and he didn't know how long it would be until he finally exploded. He was guessing it wouldn't be until someone tried to tell him they understood how he felt, for they definitely didn't have a clue.
Not watching where he was going, he bumped into Lupin's back as he stopped in front of Mrs. Figg's door. Lupin knocked three times, and then came the sound of footsteps. Mrs. Figg opened the door, and beamed when she saw them.
"Oh, do come in! Albus has only just dropped off the portkey..." Mrs. Figg stepped aside, allowing them to enter.
"How much time have we got?" Lupin asked as Mrs. Figg closed the door.
"Only about two minutes, I'm afraid, so I best go and get it."
Mrs. Figg disappeared through a door, returning a few seconds later with a chipped mug in her hand. Handing it to Lupin, she glanced over at the clock, which told them they only had about fifty seconds until the portkey transported them to Grimmauld Place. Harry let out a sigh.
"You all right, Harry?" Lupin asked him.
Harry opened his mouth to tell him he was fine, but stopped before doing so. "No, I feel horrible."
Lupin frowned. "Well, grab hold of the mug, Harry, because it'll bring us to Grimmauld Place in a few seconds."
He put a finger on the mug, and then double checked that he was still holding onto his trunk and Hedwig. A few seconds later, he felt the familiar sensation of being sucked into a vacuum cleaner as the portkey tugged him and Lupin off the ground. Just when Harry was starting to feel a bit sick, he landed on a wooden floor with a thud. Opening his eyes, he saw that he was lying in the middle of a kitchen.
"Bloody hell," Harry groaned, rubbing the back of his neck as he stood up.
"Harry!"
Turning around, he saw Hermione running towards him, and she grasped him into a hug. He barely hugged her back. She finally let go, and beamed up at him.
"Come on, let's go and see Ron and Ginny. They're upstairs."
"I'll bring your trunk upstairs later," Lupin said.
Harry nodded and picked up Hedwig's cage, who was now screeching because of his rough landing, and followed Hermione upstairs. They opened the door that belonged to the bedroom in which he and Ron had shared the previous summer and during Christmas. When Hermione opened the door, Ron and Ginny came into view. The two redheads grinned as Harry and Hermione entered.
"Hey, mate!" Ron said.
Ginny, to Harry's surprise, gave him a hug. "Hello, Harry!"
Him and Ginny broke apart, and then looked around at them all. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were all smiling. Harry stared at them. They were acting as if nothing bad had ever happened in the Department of Mysteries, and as if they had written to him every single day of the summer. He wanted to shake them and yell at them, to ask them what their problem was. After a few moments of awkward silence, their smiles began to fade.
"What is wrong with the three of you?" Harry blurted out.
Ron, Hermione, and Ginny looked at each other, and then back at Harry.
"What are you talking about?" Ron asked.
"Don't give me that rubbish, because you all know, or should know, perfectly well what I'm talking about."
"Er, well, we don't know what you're talking about." Ginny said to him.
"I haven't gotten a bloody owl from either of you all summer, and it's been three weeks!" Harry yelled.
"Harry, we're sorry! We didn't think--" Hermione started.
"That's right, you didn't think." Harry shot at her coolly.
"We figured you wouldn't want to talk to anyone after... after, well, you know." Ron muttered.
"Whatever," Harry snapped as he sat down on the bed.
"Oh no, you didn't come here to just mope around all day!" Ginny said impatiently.
"WHO EVER SAID I WANTED TO COME HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE?" Harry bellowed, getting up from the bed.
"D-didn't you want to come?" Hermione asked quietly.
"ARE YOU THREE BLIND, OR ARE YOU JUST STUPID? THIS IS SIRIUS' HOUSE, AND SIRIUS IS DEAD!" Harry shouted, feeling his anger take control of him.
"Harry, we understand—" Hermione squeaked.
"DON'T EVEN TELL ME THAT YOU UNDERSTAND, BECAUSE YOU HAVEN'T GOT A CLUE!"
Harry stared at them all before exiting the room, slamming the door loudly behind him.
Chapter One – Grimmauld Place
There was no breeze on days like these; days when the air is so hot, that you almost feel cold. Everyone's lawns were burnt yellow, and all the flowers that had once been so beautiful were shriveled up and dead. The sun had decided to show the first sign of summer by not hiding behind the clouds, but by shining brightly and throwing the usual red paint upon their arms, legs, and faces that stung like a bee. It was certainly going to be a very dry summer, yet Harry Potter's spirits were as dampened as they always were during these gloomy summer holidays, especially this one.
He was full of nothing now; filled with nothing but emptiness. His heart was hurting so badly, it felt as if someone had taken a knife and stabbed it right through three times in a row. No mother. No father. No godfather. What did he have left that was worth living for now? He didn't have any family left, unless you counted the Dursleys, but Harry never thought them to ever be his family. The only thing he had left was his friends. They were loyal, caring, and willing to stick by you whether it causes them to be killed or not.
All he wanted to do was get away from Privet Drive and find somewhere to live until he started his sixth year at Hogwarts. Where could he go? Not the Burrow, for there was too much happiness there, and it all seemed too good to be true. He could go to Grimmauld Place, but he wouldn't. Going to the house of his dead godfather almost felt like a sin, and everyone from the Order of Phoenix would try and cheer him up, which never worked at all. They didn't understand; no one ever did.
Many times Harry had been half done packing all his possession into his Hogwarts trunk, planning on catching the Knight Bus so he could maybe get a room at the Leaky Cauldron. He knew that Dumbledore would never let him leave Privet Drive if he had asked, so why not simply go without asking? Hadn't he proved to everyone enough that he could handle himself? He was sure that he had. Harry was sure he was breaking some sort of record, escaping Voldemort five times.
But of course they wouldn't bother to take one look at him if it weren't for the scar on his forehead, or the Prophecy that was once on a shelf in the Department of Mysteries before being shattered in front of his very eyes. That's the only reason why anyone ever befriended him, protected him, or simply even talked to him, right? Yes, that was exactly right. He knew that if he wasn't famous at all, that he wouldn't be the Boy-Who-Lived, he wouldn't get on the Gryffindor Quidditch team in his first year, he wouldn't be a part of the Golden Gryffindor Trio, he wouldn't be Dumbledore's Golden Boy, and he would've been expelled about six or seven times already. It all really made him wonder sometimes, about how his life could've been if Voldemort hadn't murdered his parents.
Harry was sick of taking orders from people who kept insisting he was still eleven years old. He had been stuck on Privet Drive for three weeks, and he hadn't received one letter at all. Mrs. Figg hadn't even asked him to stop by for tea once this entire summer. It was almost as if they were all scared to talk to him, as if they would let something accidentally slip. What was everyone trying to hide from him that was so awful? There certainly could not be anything worse then being the only person in the world who is able to kill Voldemort once and for all, and make him vanish for good.
It felt like the only reason he was so well protected was the fact that only he could get rid of Voldemort once and for all. They were only working so hard to keep him alive so he could save their own necks. If he did happen to kill Voldemort, what would happen after that? Would they still be willing to risk their lives for him? He wasn't sure he knew the answer to that. The only thing he did know was that he felt completely used.
The doorbell rang, causing Harry to jump slightly. The sound of Uncle Vernon's heavy footsteps echoed up into his room. He could hear him opening the door, and then he heard Uncle Vernon give a small yelp. Harry ran out his bedroom door and stopped at the top of the stairs.
"Harry!" Lupin exclaimed.
"Er, hi," he responded uncertainly.
"How are you?" Lupin asked him as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
"What do you think?" Harry said coolly.
Lupin looked taken aback by the way he said this, because he chose to pretend he hadn't heard him. "Er, I'm here to take you to Grimmauld Place, so go pack your trunk and we'll be out of here in ten minutes or so."
Harry abandoned him to deal with Uncle Vernon himself, who was staring at him with a look of pure terror. He entered his bedroom, feeling very angry. Why did they just choose to show up without telling him? Shoving this thought into the back of his mind, he began to pack his trunk. It only took him a few minutes, for it was already half packed considering he had almost ran away from Privet Drive a few days ago. When Harry had finished, he closed the door on Hedwig's cage, who was now sleeping soundlessly on her perch, and tucked it under his right arm, while pulling his trunk with his right hand.
"Ah, let's get going, then," Lupin said when he saw Harry lugging his trunk down the stairs.
"Right," he mumbled.
"We're going to arrive by portkey, since the Ministry is watching the Floo Network and you're too young to Apparate."
"Right," he repeated.
They walked out into the hot street, heading towards Mrs. Figg's house. Harry was so angry with everyone at the moment, so he chose not to start conversation with Lupin, causing them to walk in silence. Three weeks worth of anger was bottled up inside of him, and he didn't know how long it would be until he finally exploded. He was guessing it wouldn't be until someone tried to tell him they understood how he felt, for they definitely didn't have a clue.
Not watching where he was going, he bumped into Lupin's back as he stopped in front of Mrs. Figg's door. Lupin knocked three times, and then came the sound of footsteps. Mrs. Figg opened the door, and beamed when she saw them.
"Oh, do come in! Albus has only just dropped off the portkey..." Mrs. Figg stepped aside, allowing them to enter.
"How much time have we got?" Lupin asked as Mrs. Figg closed the door.
"Only about two minutes, I'm afraid, so I best go and get it."
Mrs. Figg disappeared through a door, returning a few seconds later with a chipped mug in her hand. Handing it to Lupin, she glanced over at the clock, which told them they only had about fifty seconds until the portkey transported them to Grimmauld Place. Harry let out a sigh.
"You all right, Harry?" Lupin asked him.
Harry opened his mouth to tell him he was fine, but stopped before doing so. "No, I feel horrible."
Lupin frowned. "Well, grab hold of the mug, Harry, because it'll bring us to Grimmauld Place in a few seconds."
He put a finger on the mug, and then double checked that he was still holding onto his trunk and Hedwig. A few seconds later, he felt the familiar sensation of being sucked into a vacuum cleaner as the portkey tugged him and Lupin off the ground. Just when Harry was starting to feel a bit sick, he landed on a wooden floor with a thud. Opening his eyes, he saw that he was lying in the middle of a kitchen.
"Bloody hell," Harry groaned, rubbing the back of his neck as he stood up.
"Harry!"
Turning around, he saw Hermione running towards him, and she grasped him into a hug. He barely hugged her back. She finally let go, and beamed up at him.
"Come on, let's go and see Ron and Ginny. They're upstairs."
"I'll bring your trunk upstairs later," Lupin said.
Harry nodded and picked up Hedwig's cage, who was now screeching because of his rough landing, and followed Hermione upstairs. They opened the door that belonged to the bedroom in which he and Ron had shared the previous summer and during Christmas. When Hermione opened the door, Ron and Ginny came into view. The two redheads grinned as Harry and Hermione entered.
"Hey, mate!" Ron said.
Ginny, to Harry's surprise, gave him a hug. "Hello, Harry!"
Him and Ginny broke apart, and then looked around at them all. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were all smiling. Harry stared at them. They were acting as if nothing bad had ever happened in the Department of Mysteries, and as if they had written to him every single day of the summer. He wanted to shake them and yell at them, to ask them what their problem was. After a few moments of awkward silence, their smiles began to fade.
"What is wrong with the three of you?" Harry blurted out.
Ron, Hermione, and Ginny looked at each other, and then back at Harry.
"What are you talking about?" Ron asked.
"Don't give me that rubbish, because you all know, or should know, perfectly well what I'm talking about."
"Er, well, we don't know what you're talking about." Ginny said to him.
"I haven't gotten a bloody owl from either of you all summer, and it's been three weeks!" Harry yelled.
"Harry, we're sorry! We didn't think--" Hermione started.
"That's right, you didn't think." Harry shot at her coolly.
"We figured you wouldn't want to talk to anyone after... after, well, you know." Ron muttered.
"Whatever," Harry snapped as he sat down on the bed.
"Oh no, you didn't come here to just mope around all day!" Ginny said impatiently.
"WHO EVER SAID I WANTED TO COME HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE?" Harry bellowed, getting up from the bed.
"D-didn't you want to come?" Hermione asked quietly.
"ARE YOU THREE BLIND, OR ARE YOU JUST STUPID? THIS IS SIRIUS' HOUSE, AND SIRIUS IS DEAD!" Harry shouted, feeling his anger take control of him.
"Harry, we understand—" Hermione squeaked.
"DON'T EVEN TELL ME THAT YOU UNDERSTAND, BECAUSE YOU HAVEN'T GOT A CLUE!"
Harry stared at them all before exiting the room, slamming the door loudly behind him.