Harry Potter and Serpent's Eye
by Rain Darkwood
This is my second fic, and my first Harry Potter fic. Pretty ambitious, eh? Well, here we go. You should know the drill by now. I don't own anything having to do with Harry Potter. Jk Rowling does. Seriously. Just the content of this story I own, kinda. Read on!
Summary:
Harry begins his 6th year at Hogwarts with a depressing start. He feels he has no set path, no way to know where to go...and the failing health of Albus Dumbledore, Harry's mentor and father figure, only adds to his stack of worries. Soon he finds he'll have new worries to contend with, like a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, who isn't the only new teacher... the beginning of the second war.... and a taste of life the way it was during Voldemort's reign of terror, 16 years before.
Prologue
He sat sweating in the cell, his thick straw-colored hair now limp and dirty, falling wetly against his forehead. A bar covered window provided the only light into the dank and smelly room, which contained no more than a bed and toilet. Images swarmed his mind as he stared wearily at the floor of cracked and moldy stone. A woman and a child... their image as fresh as water from a brook...they laughed as the woman read a child's story, the child giggling in her bed. The memory was sharp, as most are when in the vicinity of a dementor. He found it hard to remember where he was, these memories flooded him and drowned him, he felt as if he were choking, gasping for breath as he struggled to recall more. But all that came to him was the woman and her child. I know them, he thought, as he struggled with himself, his back stiffening and his neck hairs bristling. He could not recall their names...but he knew that he loved them very much. The term was what he could remember, what he struggled to recall. There was a phrase for how he felt for them, what they were to them...a relation of sorts... The pain in his mind was unbearable.
My wife. He cried out the word to himself, under his breath and weak but with as much exertion as it was possible to release it with. She is my wife! That is my daughter! He gasped, throwing his body back down on his bed, and arching his back. He struggled for breath like one who has just come out of a deep dive. Sweat stood out on his forehead and his eyes widened, opening fully for the first time in weeks. He could even remember what happened to them... 17 years ago... there was a fire... Death Eaters everywhere... he was gone, at his job far away... they were killed, the whole village...he came home to find the Dark Mark looming above the ashes.
He wept openly, his memory now returning to him fully. His parents, his witch mother and muggle father both alike, they burned at the hands of Death Eaters the same night. Memories he'd long suppressed, emotions he'd long ago put away, flooded back to him as he screamed and sobbed alone in his cold cell.
He wept that whole day, and pressed his face into the hard fabric of the bed as he twisted the matress cover with his fist. His unclipped nails dug into his own flesh, and drops of blood littered the stretched and twisted sheet. He kicked the walls and fell over on the floor. Until the night he slep more, unable to stand the life of the conscious. He woke that night, as yells and light penetrated the dark of the outside corridor. He wondered vaguely what it was, but never realized that his returned memory had meant a difference in the dementors of his Azkaban. He couldn't find the strength to worry about anything anymore, he merely took this new event in and continued to stare at the damp stone walls, blankly, and waiting for the time to pass.
Yells sounded nearer him than they had ever before. His corridor shone more brightly as torches lit it, and cages came unlocked. These sounds were greeted by more yells as prisoners near his own cell joined a widening crowd. Shadows fell over the walls approaching his cell, and he looked away from the cell doors. Whoever it was would have to leave him alone. He had no wish of escape, only to rot with his amplified memories and die alone, to meet again with those he'd lost.
The sound of sliding and clashing metal pierced the silence of his cell as the door opened slowly. As it clanged shut, a voice he'd heard before touched his ears, making them feel raw as reality hit him, as he realized that his sense of hearing had not been exercised this fully in a long time.
"Hello, Sturgis." a cold and malevolent drawl slid across his eardrums, shocking his system and causing him to shudder.
"M..Mal..." Sturgis' lips were cracked and his voice could not find itself.
"Yes...you know me. The dementors have had quite an effect on you..." A sneer accompanied these words.
Sturgis found his voice as another word surfaced in his memory - Phoenix. "Order..." he croaked, shuffling to his feet and finding his legs surprisingly intact and strong. "The Order will have you."
"Really, Sturgis? The Order...has already had me. And they've lost me. Now they've lost you too."
A bright green tunnel of light erupted, dissolving Sturgis' vision. He numbly felt his body crumple against the stone floor, but his vision remained a snapshot of Lucius Malfoy's face. It dissolved slowly to reveal his wife once more...and his daughter laughing happily and running to him.
.....
The cold air momentarily warmed as the jet of green light left Lucius Malfoy's wand. He lowered it as Sturgis Podmore fell dead. A silence had permeated the group of men and women with him, but Lucius was not in the mood for respectful, or awkward, silences. He turned swiftly ands trode through them down the corridor from whence they came.
"One less filthy Order of the Phoenix mudblood to bother us," he drawled briskly, as the group of imprisoned death eaters began to follow.
by Rain Darkwood
This is my second fic, and my first Harry Potter fic. Pretty ambitious, eh? Well, here we go. You should know the drill by now. I don't own anything having to do with Harry Potter. Jk Rowling does. Seriously. Just the content of this story I own, kinda. Read on!
Summary:
Harry begins his 6th year at Hogwarts with a depressing start. He feels he has no set path, no way to know where to go...and the failing health of Albus Dumbledore, Harry's mentor and father figure, only adds to his stack of worries. Soon he finds he'll have new worries to contend with, like a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, who isn't the only new teacher... the beginning of the second war.... and a taste of life the way it was during Voldemort's reign of terror, 16 years before.
Prologue
He sat sweating in the cell, his thick straw-colored hair now limp and dirty, falling wetly against his forehead. A bar covered window provided the only light into the dank and smelly room, which contained no more than a bed and toilet. Images swarmed his mind as he stared wearily at the floor of cracked and moldy stone. A woman and a child... their image as fresh as water from a brook...they laughed as the woman read a child's story, the child giggling in her bed. The memory was sharp, as most are when in the vicinity of a dementor. He found it hard to remember where he was, these memories flooded him and drowned him, he felt as if he were choking, gasping for breath as he struggled to recall more. But all that came to him was the woman and her child. I know them, he thought, as he struggled with himself, his back stiffening and his neck hairs bristling. He could not recall their names...but he knew that he loved them very much. The term was what he could remember, what he struggled to recall. There was a phrase for how he felt for them, what they were to them...a relation of sorts... The pain in his mind was unbearable.
My wife. He cried out the word to himself, under his breath and weak but with as much exertion as it was possible to release it with. She is my wife! That is my daughter! He gasped, throwing his body back down on his bed, and arching his back. He struggled for breath like one who has just come out of a deep dive. Sweat stood out on his forehead and his eyes widened, opening fully for the first time in weeks. He could even remember what happened to them... 17 years ago... there was a fire... Death Eaters everywhere... he was gone, at his job far away... they were killed, the whole village...he came home to find the Dark Mark looming above the ashes.
He wept openly, his memory now returning to him fully. His parents, his witch mother and muggle father both alike, they burned at the hands of Death Eaters the same night. Memories he'd long suppressed, emotions he'd long ago put away, flooded back to him as he screamed and sobbed alone in his cold cell.
He wept that whole day, and pressed his face into the hard fabric of the bed as he twisted the matress cover with his fist. His unclipped nails dug into his own flesh, and drops of blood littered the stretched and twisted sheet. He kicked the walls and fell over on the floor. Until the night he slep more, unable to stand the life of the conscious. He woke that night, as yells and light penetrated the dark of the outside corridor. He wondered vaguely what it was, but never realized that his returned memory had meant a difference in the dementors of his Azkaban. He couldn't find the strength to worry about anything anymore, he merely took this new event in and continued to stare at the damp stone walls, blankly, and waiting for the time to pass.
Yells sounded nearer him than they had ever before. His corridor shone more brightly as torches lit it, and cages came unlocked. These sounds were greeted by more yells as prisoners near his own cell joined a widening crowd. Shadows fell over the walls approaching his cell, and he looked away from the cell doors. Whoever it was would have to leave him alone. He had no wish of escape, only to rot with his amplified memories and die alone, to meet again with those he'd lost.
The sound of sliding and clashing metal pierced the silence of his cell as the door opened slowly. As it clanged shut, a voice he'd heard before touched his ears, making them feel raw as reality hit him, as he realized that his sense of hearing had not been exercised this fully in a long time.
"Hello, Sturgis." a cold and malevolent drawl slid across his eardrums, shocking his system and causing him to shudder.
"M..Mal..." Sturgis' lips were cracked and his voice could not find itself.
"Yes...you know me. The dementors have had quite an effect on you..." A sneer accompanied these words.
Sturgis found his voice as another word surfaced in his memory - Phoenix. "Order..." he croaked, shuffling to his feet and finding his legs surprisingly intact and strong. "The Order will have you."
"Really, Sturgis? The Order...has already had me. And they've lost me. Now they've lost you too."
A bright green tunnel of light erupted, dissolving Sturgis' vision. He numbly felt his body crumple against the stone floor, but his vision remained a snapshot of Lucius Malfoy's face. It dissolved slowly to reveal his wife once more...and his daughter laughing happily and running to him.
.....
The cold air momentarily warmed as the jet of green light left Lucius Malfoy's wand. He lowered it as Sturgis Podmore fell dead. A silence had permeated the group of men and women with him, but Lucius was not in the mood for respectful, or awkward, silences. He turned swiftly ands trode through them down the corridor from whence they came.
"One less filthy Order of the Phoenix mudblood to bother us," he drawled briskly, as the group of imprisoned death eaters began to follow.