Chapter Seven
Familiars
I did not know what to make of Harry's declaration. I could understand his desperate need for safety and comfort after the harrowing year he had had. I knew, though I would not willingly admit it to anyone, exactly what it was like to revel in feeling secure again. When the Imperious curse had first been removed and I had realized that I was at Hogwarts and that it was all over, I had felt just that way, but I had masked those feelings with a weathered smile and tried not to let on. Albus, I felt certain, knew, but certainly no one else.
I tried not to look at Harry as I made some porridge, carefully sniffing some of the ingredients, wondering vaguely if it were possible that someone could have been in my cabinets while I was away, if someone could have gotten past the wards in my absence. I finally decided that everything in the cupboards seemed to be where I had left it.
The amount of trust Harry was beginning to place in me was rather startling, not to mention disconcerting. Since before the first days of Voldemort, many had been suspicious of wizards and witches who wore the robes of an Auror. Some said that we were a merciless and cruel lot, hardly better than Dark Wizards ourselves. My parents, who had been both Aurors and very good ones, had taught me all about that, about the suspicion and mild intolerance. But then Harry had had no one to teach him the small prejudices of the wizarding world, not unlike Italian-born Anastasio.
"Alastor? Alastor? I think the porridge is burning," a voice alerted me, snapping me out of my rather uncharacteristic reverie, if brooding over the ways of the magical community could be called that.
I shook my head and quickly removed the pot from the magical range, which wasn't supposed to do that, to allow things to burn. I gave the antiquated stove a menacing look and poured up a bowl of the stuff for Harry, silently cursing my own inattentiveness all the while.
"It isn't burned, just a bit ... well done for porridge," I said, taking a spoon from one of the drawers in the little kitchenette and examining it closely before putting it in the bowl.
"What if I can't hold it down?" questioned Harry, letting on for the first time that morning that he still felt sick.
"Then I'll make a broth or something lighter. And if you can't manage that, then I have a potion that might help, but it is exceedingly nasty. I suggest you do your best with this," I said as Harry sat up in bed.
"Aren't you going to have anything?" Harry asked as I passed him the bowl.
"Maybe later," I growled in response. For some reason I just wasn't hungry. Maybe it was the headache I had from the earlier incident. Not to mention the ribs ... No matter. I would rifle through the medical kit again after Harry had eaten.
"How are you feeling?" I asked him cautiously, noting the Harry seemed to be avoiding looking at me, not that I could blame him so much.
"Better."
"Albus told me last night that he plans to send a message to the Weasleys. If you feel well enough soon, perhaps there might be a way that you could see them."
"I could owl them ..." Harry began to say. There was a soft clatter as his spoon slipped from his fingers.
I felt a chill as I looked into Harry's eyes. They were suddenly haunted and half vacant. I took the nearly empty bowl from his hands and set it aside.
"Laddie, you're scaring an old man," I said uncertainly, not knowing what was wrong with him. I cautiously felt his forehead for a fever, but he wasn't overly warm anymore.
"Hedwig," he said.
I closed my eyes for a moment, remembering the last thing Harry had said before falling asleep: "Alastor ... I think they killed my owl. I think ... they may have killed Hedwig."
"I'm so sorry," I said, mentally berating myself for my momentary insensitivity. "Tell me what happened," I suggested gently.
Harry closed his eyes. I could tell that he was holding back tears. The owl that he called Hedwig was most likely his familiar, more than just a muggle pet. A faithful friend, one could say, though I imagined that it was a delivery owl too.
His shoulders shook slightly as I put my arm around him. I was surprised when Harry leaned against me, permitting me to draw the young wizard into a hug. It surprised me and eased my concern about how badly Harry had been treated. He could still trust, and that was a very good sign.
"You don't want to talk about it, Harry? That's fine. You don't have to, but I think it would make you feel better," I told him, patting his shoulder as he began to calm down again.
"Uncle Vernon took her cage out of my room a couple of days after I came back for the summer holidays. She would make a racket whenever he would hit me. Hedwig was very ... protective of me. The windows had been boarded up the first day, so when he took her out back ... I couldn't see what happened. There was a terrible ruckus. Then I heard my uncle curse. There was one last screech from Hedwig ... The next morning, when I was let out of my room for a few minutes, I looked outside and saw white feathers all over the back yard," Harry explained slowly.
I listened carefully to his story and said, "But, Harry, are you certain that she didn't escape? Your owl was a wizard's owl, not some ordinary bird. These creatures don't die easily, you know."
"Then why didn't she come back?" asked Harry.
I calmly rubbed his shoulder as I considered the answer to that question. I didn't want to give him false hope, but there was a real chance his owl had survived, at least that's what I thought from what he had told me.
"She was loyal to you, wasn't she? So you'd think she would have come back," I agreed with him. "But maybe she went for help. Albus never told me why exactly he thought you were in trouble. He knew you weren't writing your friends properly. I can't say that that's what happened, Harry, but I wouldn't give up yet."
"If you happen to speak to the headmaster, do you think you could ask him?"
"Of course," I nodded, slowly releasing Harry, who managed a tremulous smile. "I once had a familiar too, you know," I admitted.
"An owl?"
"No, it was a bit different. Back in my school days, the rules about such things were not so strict," I said with a twisted smile, remembering how Hogwarts had been before the days of the Chamber of Secrets, which had been opened just two years after my graduation. If only I had been there ... I might have gone into the Ministry with my own reputation instead of relying on that of my late parents. Water under the bridge, of course.
"I bet it was dangerous then," said Harry.
"It was not exactly as safe as an owl," I confessed. "But Casey never hurt anyone."
"What was he?"
"A Clabbert."
Harry furrowed his brow and asked, "So basically your childhood pet was a dark detector?"
"My folks were Aurors, Harry, and they felt safer knowing that I had him around, but I always thought of him as one of my truest friends and companions. And Casey was a smart little devil too."
"If you don't mind, may I ask what became of him?"
"Oh, well, I kept him with me after I became an Auror. It was a silly thing to do. He was getting on in years, though he was still loyal and faithful. Died in France, like a number of my wizard and witch friends from my year in school," I answered awkwardly. "I never wanted another creature after him," I added.
Casey wasn't the best looking animal I had ever seen. In fact he could scare almost every female student in my year at will back during my school days. He had been really handy to have around. It was years before I had understood why he had always reacted so negatively to a certain Slytherin first year named Tom Riddle. By the time I understood, it was already too late.
"I can understand that," said Harry.
"Do you want anything else to eat? If I send you back to Hogwarts looking half-starved, Albus would probably have my hide," I said, trying to change the subject.
"No, but would it be all right if I take a nap? I feel tired."
"Perfectly all right. You need your rest to get your strength back," I said, beginning to stand up.
Then I saw a flash of anxiety or something like it in Harry's eyes and paused.
"The boy doesn't want me to leave him," I thought, settling back into my place and adjusting the blankets almost idly. "I think I'll sit here for a moment if you don't mind, Harry," I said.
"Of course I don't mind," said Harry.
"You're not going to wake up and toss me across the room again, are you, lad?" I asked with a touch of humor.
"I'll do my best," he answered with a soft chuckle as he closed his eyes. He understood that I was only joking.
I had actually planned to wait until Harry was asleep and then return to my comfortable chair and perhaps have a half dose of a healing potion. I had some reading that I wanted to do and some thinking as well. But my eyelids had become heavy before I could do any of the things that I had planned. The gray morning light was just beginning to filter through the window, which was charmed to be unbreakable from the outside to prevent anyone from breaking into the cottage, but allowing a means of escape from within. Before I knew it, I was what I would once have called 'asleep on the job' ...
It was cold and pitch dark again. My good eye was closed, but I could feel the heaviness of the darkness even beyond the shivering, prickliness of the cold. I knew where I was. I was painfully aware of how I had gotten there. My body ached from the cold and from the kicks I had endured. Was that hours ago? Days? Weeks? I wasn't certain. I didn't really want to know either. The answer would be too frightening.
A warm hand was unbuttoning my tattered nightshirt. I wanted more than anything to open my eyes. But I just couldn't. One eye was missing, stolen from me, and the other was forced closed by order of my inhuman captor. It was another form of torture. Subtle, but no less agonizing. The warm, slender fingers that had begun to remove the one defense that I had from the cold, slowly, languidly touched my stomach. I felt sick. I managed to twitch slightly away from the invasive touch, though my body cried out for the warmth of it. Anything to abate the cold.
A growling chuckle reached my ears. Insane. Amused. I was no more than entertainment for my enemy. There was another spasm as the hands trailed up and down my chest, exploring. My torturer cuffed me sharply. The pain was nothing. The shame of it was unbearable. I could not fight back at all.
"Powerless..." a growling voice said. "Utterly defenseless against me."
A sharp fingernail was drawn across the top of my hip. I could feel my heart beating wildly within my chest. Not even the Imperious curse could completely thwart the physiological response induced by my panic and fear. For a moment I hoped that I might have a heart attack and rob him of his prey. Death would have been preferable by then. But my enemy was right: I was unable to stop anything that was happening or would happen.
"You can't possibly fight me. Legendary Auror indeed." said a mocking voice. It didn't sound so much like my own voice anymore. My captor was letting the facade slip away. It was the voice of a mad and dangerous man. But I felt, even through the haze of the curse, grateful that the voice was no longer so heinously familiar.
The hands continued to wander curiously over my battle-scarred skin. Just another form of torture. I could feel bile rising in my throat in revulsion and horror. But I could not gag, could not scream, could not whimper. Nothing.
When I woke up from the ... bad dream, I was lying on the floor. It felt as though I had fallen from the bed. I had drawn my knee up defensively to my chest. I was out of breath and panting slightly. My eyes were squeezed closed, and even my magical eye was not transmitting information about my surroundings to my brain, which was something that did not happen very often. I swallowed. It also felt as though I had cried out in my sleep.
But worse than any of that, someone was urgently calling my name.
"Alastor? Please wake up!" said Harry plaintively. I recognized the voice instantly. It was nothing like that of my captor.
I heard Harry climb from bed and plop down noisily on the floor nearby before he shook me anxiously by the shoulders.
"Let me be, lad, just let me be," I said quietly as my wits slowly returned. I opened my eyes to find Harry staring down at me. His face was as white as a sheet.
"You screamed. I think you must have fallen asleep and were having a nightmare," said Harry.
"Aurors don't have nightmares," I growled in perfunctory answer, slowly sitting up.
"I would beg to differ," said Harry almost under his breath.
"Don't fuss, lad," I said as he stared at me worriedly. "Sometimes I have dreams. It isn't anything special."
"Do you want to talk about it?" he questioned hesitantly. My own words coming back to haunt me.
"I can't. You wouldn't understand, and I'm glad you wouldn't, Harry," I told him, squeezing his arm before hoisting myself up.
He stood with me, the anxious expression never leaving his face. He was such a good lad, I thought. A lot like his father and his mother too. I was halfway to the bath when the memory swept over me and my knees began to buckle.
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A/N: Sorry this has taken so long. I already had part of this written when OotP came out. Then after reading the new book, it was really difficult to pick up the story again. And, yes, I do think Crouch was a monster.
NightSpear, Ice Lupus, Relle, Renee Fay, Silver Angel, Michelle, Englishgirl, Ariel (I love telling multiple stories), Lady FoxFire (thanks for the offer), Von, silversea, skullfarmer, eat paper, Jennifer, dragongirlG (first person is awful to write), and Otspock: thank you all for reviewing!
Familiars
I did not know what to make of Harry's declaration. I could understand his desperate need for safety and comfort after the harrowing year he had had. I knew, though I would not willingly admit it to anyone, exactly what it was like to revel in feeling secure again. When the Imperious curse had first been removed and I had realized that I was at Hogwarts and that it was all over, I had felt just that way, but I had masked those feelings with a weathered smile and tried not to let on. Albus, I felt certain, knew, but certainly no one else.
I tried not to look at Harry as I made some porridge, carefully sniffing some of the ingredients, wondering vaguely if it were possible that someone could have been in my cabinets while I was away, if someone could have gotten past the wards in my absence. I finally decided that everything in the cupboards seemed to be where I had left it.
The amount of trust Harry was beginning to place in me was rather startling, not to mention disconcerting. Since before the first days of Voldemort, many had been suspicious of wizards and witches who wore the robes of an Auror. Some said that we were a merciless and cruel lot, hardly better than Dark Wizards ourselves. My parents, who had been both Aurors and very good ones, had taught me all about that, about the suspicion and mild intolerance. But then Harry had had no one to teach him the small prejudices of the wizarding world, not unlike Italian-born Anastasio.
"Alastor? Alastor? I think the porridge is burning," a voice alerted me, snapping me out of my rather uncharacteristic reverie, if brooding over the ways of the magical community could be called that.
I shook my head and quickly removed the pot from the magical range, which wasn't supposed to do that, to allow things to burn. I gave the antiquated stove a menacing look and poured up a bowl of the stuff for Harry, silently cursing my own inattentiveness all the while.
"It isn't burned, just a bit ... well done for porridge," I said, taking a spoon from one of the drawers in the little kitchenette and examining it closely before putting it in the bowl.
"What if I can't hold it down?" questioned Harry, letting on for the first time that morning that he still felt sick.
"Then I'll make a broth or something lighter. And if you can't manage that, then I have a potion that might help, but it is exceedingly nasty. I suggest you do your best with this," I said as Harry sat up in bed.
"Aren't you going to have anything?" Harry asked as I passed him the bowl.
"Maybe later," I growled in response. For some reason I just wasn't hungry. Maybe it was the headache I had from the earlier incident. Not to mention the ribs ... No matter. I would rifle through the medical kit again after Harry had eaten.
"How are you feeling?" I asked him cautiously, noting the Harry seemed to be avoiding looking at me, not that I could blame him so much.
"Better."
"Albus told me last night that he plans to send a message to the Weasleys. If you feel well enough soon, perhaps there might be a way that you could see them."
"I could owl them ..." Harry began to say. There was a soft clatter as his spoon slipped from his fingers.
I felt a chill as I looked into Harry's eyes. They were suddenly haunted and half vacant. I took the nearly empty bowl from his hands and set it aside.
"Laddie, you're scaring an old man," I said uncertainly, not knowing what was wrong with him. I cautiously felt his forehead for a fever, but he wasn't overly warm anymore.
"Hedwig," he said.
I closed my eyes for a moment, remembering the last thing Harry had said before falling asleep: "Alastor ... I think they killed my owl. I think ... they may have killed Hedwig."
"I'm so sorry," I said, mentally berating myself for my momentary insensitivity. "Tell me what happened," I suggested gently.
Harry closed his eyes. I could tell that he was holding back tears. The owl that he called Hedwig was most likely his familiar, more than just a muggle pet. A faithful friend, one could say, though I imagined that it was a delivery owl too.
His shoulders shook slightly as I put my arm around him. I was surprised when Harry leaned against me, permitting me to draw the young wizard into a hug. It surprised me and eased my concern about how badly Harry had been treated. He could still trust, and that was a very good sign.
"You don't want to talk about it, Harry? That's fine. You don't have to, but I think it would make you feel better," I told him, patting his shoulder as he began to calm down again.
"Uncle Vernon took her cage out of my room a couple of days after I came back for the summer holidays. She would make a racket whenever he would hit me. Hedwig was very ... protective of me. The windows had been boarded up the first day, so when he took her out back ... I couldn't see what happened. There was a terrible ruckus. Then I heard my uncle curse. There was one last screech from Hedwig ... The next morning, when I was let out of my room for a few minutes, I looked outside and saw white feathers all over the back yard," Harry explained slowly.
I listened carefully to his story and said, "But, Harry, are you certain that she didn't escape? Your owl was a wizard's owl, not some ordinary bird. These creatures don't die easily, you know."
"Then why didn't she come back?" asked Harry.
I calmly rubbed his shoulder as I considered the answer to that question. I didn't want to give him false hope, but there was a real chance his owl had survived, at least that's what I thought from what he had told me.
"She was loyal to you, wasn't she? So you'd think she would have come back," I agreed with him. "But maybe she went for help. Albus never told me why exactly he thought you were in trouble. He knew you weren't writing your friends properly. I can't say that that's what happened, Harry, but I wouldn't give up yet."
"If you happen to speak to the headmaster, do you think you could ask him?"
"Of course," I nodded, slowly releasing Harry, who managed a tremulous smile. "I once had a familiar too, you know," I admitted.
"An owl?"
"No, it was a bit different. Back in my school days, the rules about such things were not so strict," I said with a twisted smile, remembering how Hogwarts had been before the days of the Chamber of Secrets, which had been opened just two years after my graduation. If only I had been there ... I might have gone into the Ministry with my own reputation instead of relying on that of my late parents. Water under the bridge, of course.
"I bet it was dangerous then," said Harry.
"It was not exactly as safe as an owl," I confessed. "But Casey never hurt anyone."
"What was he?"
"A Clabbert."
Harry furrowed his brow and asked, "So basically your childhood pet was a dark detector?"
"My folks were Aurors, Harry, and they felt safer knowing that I had him around, but I always thought of him as one of my truest friends and companions. And Casey was a smart little devil too."
"If you don't mind, may I ask what became of him?"
"Oh, well, I kept him with me after I became an Auror. It was a silly thing to do. He was getting on in years, though he was still loyal and faithful. Died in France, like a number of my wizard and witch friends from my year in school," I answered awkwardly. "I never wanted another creature after him," I added.
Casey wasn't the best looking animal I had ever seen. In fact he could scare almost every female student in my year at will back during my school days. He had been really handy to have around. It was years before I had understood why he had always reacted so negatively to a certain Slytherin first year named Tom Riddle. By the time I understood, it was already too late.
"I can understand that," said Harry.
"Do you want anything else to eat? If I send you back to Hogwarts looking half-starved, Albus would probably have my hide," I said, trying to change the subject.
"No, but would it be all right if I take a nap? I feel tired."
"Perfectly all right. You need your rest to get your strength back," I said, beginning to stand up.
Then I saw a flash of anxiety or something like it in Harry's eyes and paused.
"The boy doesn't want me to leave him," I thought, settling back into my place and adjusting the blankets almost idly. "I think I'll sit here for a moment if you don't mind, Harry," I said.
"Of course I don't mind," said Harry.
"You're not going to wake up and toss me across the room again, are you, lad?" I asked with a touch of humor.
"I'll do my best," he answered with a soft chuckle as he closed his eyes. He understood that I was only joking.
I had actually planned to wait until Harry was asleep and then return to my comfortable chair and perhaps have a half dose of a healing potion. I had some reading that I wanted to do and some thinking as well. But my eyelids had become heavy before I could do any of the things that I had planned. The gray morning light was just beginning to filter through the window, which was charmed to be unbreakable from the outside to prevent anyone from breaking into the cottage, but allowing a means of escape from within. Before I knew it, I was what I would once have called 'asleep on the job' ...
It was cold and pitch dark again. My good eye was closed, but I could feel the heaviness of the darkness even beyond the shivering, prickliness of the cold. I knew where I was. I was painfully aware of how I had gotten there. My body ached from the cold and from the kicks I had endured. Was that hours ago? Days? Weeks? I wasn't certain. I didn't really want to know either. The answer would be too frightening.
A warm hand was unbuttoning my tattered nightshirt. I wanted more than anything to open my eyes. But I just couldn't. One eye was missing, stolen from me, and the other was forced closed by order of my inhuman captor. It was another form of torture. Subtle, but no less agonizing. The warm, slender fingers that had begun to remove the one defense that I had from the cold, slowly, languidly touched my stomach. I felt sick. I managed to twitch slightly away from the invasive touch, though my body cried out for the warmth of it. Anything to abate the cold.
A growling chuckle reached my ears. Insane. Amused. I was no more than entertainment for my enemy. There was another spasm as the hands trailed up and down my chest, exploring. My torturer cuffed me sharply. The pain was nothing. The shame of it was unbearable. I could not fight back at all.
"Powerless..." a growling voice said. "Utterly defenseless against me."
A sharp fingernail was drawn across the top of my hip. I could feel my heart beating wildly within my chest. Not even the Imperious curse could completely thwart the physiological response induced by my panic and fear. For a moment I hoped that I might have a heart attack and rob him of his prey. Death would have been preferable by then. But my enemy was right: I was unable to stop anything that was happening or would happen.
"You can't possibly fight me. Legendary Auror indeed." said a mocking voice. It didn't sound so much like my own voice anymore. My captor was letting the facade slip away. It was the voice of a mad and dangerous man. But I felt, even through the haze of the curse, grateful that the voice was no longer so heinously familiar.
The hands continued to wander curiously over my battle-scarred skin. Just another form of torture. I could feel bile rising in my throat in revulsion and horror. But I could not gag, could not scream, could not whimper. Nothing.
When I woke up from the ... bad dream, I was lying on the floor. It felt as though I had fallen from the bed. I had drawn my knee up defensively to my chest. I was out of breath and panting slightly. My eyes were squeezed closed, and even my magical eye was not transmitting information about my surroundings to my brain, which was something that did not happen very often. I swallowed. It also felt as though I had cried out in my sleep.
But worse than any of that, someone was urgently calling my name.
"Alastor? Please wake up!" said Harry plaintively. I recognized the voice instantly. It was nothing like that of my captor.
I heard Harry climb from bed and plop down noisily on the floor nearby before he shook me anxiously by the shoulders.
"Let me be, lad, just let me be," I said quietly as my wits slowly returned. I opened my eyes to find Harry staring down at me. His face was as white as a sheet.
"You screamed. I think you must have fallen asleep and were having a nightmare," said Harry.
"Aurors don't have nightmares," I growled in perfunctory answer, slowly sitting up.
"I would beg to differ," said Harry almost under his breath.
"Don't fuss, lad," I said as he stared at me worriedly. "Sometimes I have dreams. It isn't anything special."
"Do you want to talk about it?" he questioned hesitantly. My own words coming back to haunt me.
"I can't. You wouldn't understand, and I'm glad you wouldn't, Harry," I told him, squeezing his arm before hoisting myself up.
He stood with me, the anxious expression never leaving his face. He was such a good lad, I thought. A lot like his father and his mother too. I was halfway to the bath when the memory swept over me and my knees began to buckle.
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A/N: Sorry this has taken so long. I already had part of this written when OotP came out. Then after reading the new book, it was really difficult to pick up the story again. And, yes, I do think Crouch was a monster.
NightSpear, Ice Lupus, Relle, Renee Fay, Silver Angel, Michelle, Englishgirl, Ariel (I love telling multiple stories), Lady FoxFire (thanks for the offer), Von, silversea, skullfarmer, eat paper, Jennifer, dragongirlG (first person is awful to write), and Otspock: thank you all for reviewing!