Harry Potter and the Dead Sphere
By: Stokely
You are being forwarned. This is written to be like the books. There are long descriptions and lots of stuff that you wouldn't have gotten from the movies. This first chapter may seem a bit long but I thought it was good none the less. If you are merely looking for just another Harry Potter Romance, I suggest you look else where. Everyone who wants a (hopefully) good read, continue.
For Ghada, who always loved my stories.
The Sorting Hat Disclaimer Song (feel free to sing along)
Before I begin, credit is owing
On the part of JK Rowling
She created Harry, Quidditch and more
I wrote this for simple amusement therefore
No profit was made and none is due
From readers and reviewers, that means you
Just for your information, just so you know
Claiming otherwise would bring about a nasty foe
And beatings ordered by the WB
Rival those done by the Whomping Willow Tree
So please keep in mind as you read
My heartfelt thanks and a desperate plea
To remember, I disclaimed and did no wrong
Except writing this abysmal song...
Chapter one
Leaving Number Four
The gentle rapping at his bedroom window finally woke him up. He watched with bright emerald eyes as the rain streaked down the window pane in an almost calming way. His index finger tapped his palm as his hand experienced the odd sensation of feeling like it was full of sand. He rolled over so that the arm that had fallen asleep could get blood circulating in it again and groped for his glasses before putting them on. Soon he'd swept back the bed sheets and he had gotten up, looking out his window onto the wet pavement of Privet Drive.
The dark laneway was glossy with water, and one of the lampposts flickered, casting eerie shadows over the orange tinted road. The only sign that dawn was coming was the pink tinge that lined dark storm clouds on the horizon. Harry rubbed his eyes, any sleepiness he had been feeling earlier vacating him almost immediately. His eyes drifted to his nightstand, and he pushed the small stack of letters he'd received out of the way so that the number 5:16 shone in acid green on his alarm clock. He sighed, resigned himself to not going back to bed and began to dress.
Contrary to what his outward actions would indicate, he was rather excitedly awaiting for six o'clock to roll around. Today was the day that he and Ron were to go to Hermione's house to stay the weekend, before the three of them went to the station to catch the Hogwarts express and, astonishingly enough, begin their seventh and final year at Hogwarts.
Harry breathed deeply at this thought as his head poked through the collar of one of Dudley's old Manchester United jumpers. His final year at Hogwarts. He had turned seventeen little more than a month ago. He remembered when Hermione had called him to invite him to come along with Ron to stay at her house, their conversation had ended with that very topic and, coincidentally, very noisy sobbing on Hermione's end of the telephone.
He made his way to his small wardrobe and looked in the mirror. His hand brushed through his hair, which was as untidy as ever (not that he cared any) and his eyes had slight bags under them. He hadn't been sleeping well lately. That was a bit of an exaggeration actually, Harry thought. He hadn't been sleeping well since late his fifth year. And that was a very long time. Ron had nagged him about it, told him he should see Madam Pomffrey, Dumbledore, anyone. He'd ignored his friend, instead opting to just do what any adolescent male would do – deal with it on his own.
He suddenly found himself wondering if Ron had seen Hermione at all that summer. The two of them had been on off terms towards the end of last year – they'd had a bit of a row and the train ride home had been spent in silent tension. Also, Hermione had enough to contend with over the summer.
Every year the Grangers vacationed somewhere. A few summers ago they'd been to France, and the summer of their fifth year, Hermione had convinced her parents to vacation in Bulgaria so she could spend her time with Viktor Krum. She'd been reluctant to give any details of how the two had spent their time, only that she had 'a delightful and educational time' and she was thinking of perhaps visiting again next year. Ron had snorted at this, his ears turning pink, before he muttered some sort of excuse and stormed off.
However this summer, she did not go to Bulgaria, but to America on a Wizarding Exchange Programme. She'd gone to Salemtops Academy and Boarding House, and she'd written to Harry and Ron on a regular basis talking about how interesting it was to be on another continent and to learn about all the great witches and wizards that had come from Salem. She'd also wrote a fair bit about her bunk mate, a witch their age named Quinn Aggleberry who was to attend Hogwarts with them that year. She'd returned about three days earlier when she decided that instead of all going to the Burrow or Grimauld Place, they should visit her this year.
Harry yawned audibly. Hermione had promised to pick him up at precisely six and that he shan't be late lest he wish for her to leave him at the Dursley's for the weekend (an idea that did not settle with him well).
The Dursley's had been, if possible, even more horrible this summer than they had been any summer beforehand. He'd felt like a slave, doing menial chores like tending to Aunt Petunia's garden or running errands for Uncle Vernon. They took every opportunity they could to verbally put him down, and they'd locked away his wand and broomstick. They'd only allowed him his spellbooks for homework, and even one weekend forced him to complete Dudley's maths homework while Dudleykins went to a water park with Piers Polkiss. As per usual, they pretended that he was some vulgar slimy thing that one of them had trod on, brought into the house with their trainers, and couldn't clean off.
The only thing that kept him from complaining was the idea that this was the last summer he would ever spend in Little Whinging. That alone kept a smile on his face, even after weeding the flowerbeds in a sweltering heat.
Harry looked to his clock, which now read a quarter to six. He sighed, picked up his Potions textbook and threw it into his trunk, along with his five scrolls worth of potions homework. Snape had been especially nasty at the end of the year, assigning them an essay on why Stinging Nettles from the dark forest mixed with Ashenshoots make such an intense Blinding potion and what side effects were possible with the improper mixture. Harry had found the task particularly taxing, but managed to get it done before the weekend so he could enjoy himself at Hermione's.
Harry opened the door and dragged his trunk out of the room, turning around to look into the room. It was bare. No longer did his Gryffindor house flag don his wall. Hedwig's cage no longer lived among cluttered spell books and wizard candy. No, every trace of Harry's existence was now gone. It looked as if he'd never existed, something the Dursley's had desperately been awaiting since the day he'd been left on their neat little doorstep.
It was an odd feeling as he turned and continued to drag his trunk down the stairs, trying not to wake the Dursley's as it clunked down each step. He would never come back here again. He felt elated, his stomach empty and airy and he was vaguely aware that his lips had begun to curl upward. He reached the front hall and let the trunk drop next to the door with a dull thud.
"You're up then." Harry's heart stopped a minute, and he turned to see his Aunt standing at the kitchen table, leaning over it, looking down at her hands. Her hair was still in pin curls, and she'd donned a pink cotton bathrobe.
"Could I have my wand and broomstick." He said quietly, not sure what else to say. "Please." He added as an afterthought. She smiled, but it wasn't her usual smarmy smile; this one was bitter, and carried something much more painful in it.
"You were always a polite boy." She said dreamily. Harry frowned at this. What was she playing at? She'd never seen him as polite, if anything she'd been subjected to his rude hormonal surges throughout his fifth and sixth year. She looked up at him and her eyes were wider than usual, paler as well. "I suppose you'll be gone soon."
"Yeah, Hermione'll be here in five minutes." He said, trying to move things along. He wasn't comfortable with the way she was looking at him. She nodded and walked past him, to the cupboard under the stair, a place he'd once been confined to living in.
She took off the padlock and opened the door numbly, moving back to allow him to reach in and get his belongings. For a moment he stood still and looked at her suspiciously, as if half expecting her to push him inside and lock him away. But he gave way to reason, assuring himself there was no way the Dursley's would want to keep him if they had the chance to get rid of him. So he reached in and withdrew his wand and Firebolt moving back to his trunk. He heard his aunt sigh and heard the distinct click of the padlock as it was shut.
He turned around and saw that she was facing him, her hands overlapped in front of her, looking at him in that strange way. Where was Hermione? Shouldn't she be here by now? They both stood in awkward silence, waiting for the doorbell to ring.
"Where's Uncle Vernon?" Harry asked trying to make conversation.
"He's in bed, asleep. No use waking him, I thought." She said plainly. Harry shifted his weight.
"You don't need to wait for me. I'm not going to steal something or hex the house or anything like that." He said, hoping she would go back upstairs.
"I'd like to – I just – I'm going to see you off." She said, having a hard time finding the correct words. Harry looked at her, very obviously puzzled by this. Since when had she cared enough to "see him off" anywhere?
"Why?" he asked sharply.
"Don't question me boy." For a moment it seemed like the old Aunt Petunia had come back, which made him relax strangely enough. The old Aunt Petunia he could deal with. But suddenly she looked ashamed of herself and added in a more kindly voice, "It's the right thing to do. It's only right that your family watch you go." It's what Lily would have wanted.
This subtext seemed to reach Harry and he was about to try again to convince her that she shouldn't feel obligated to stay with him since she obviously never really liked him – but something caught his tongue and he stayed silent. He stood in the presence of his only living relative, uncomfortable with the sudden realization that she indeed was all that he had left.
"Uh…" he said suddenly, bring his hand up to brush back his unruly bangs. "Thanks…" Suddenly Petunia made a sort of clucking noise in the back of her throat and her bony hand rushed forward. For a moment, Harry thought she was going to strangle him, but no her hand came to the top of his head where it hesitated, as if she'd just realized what she was about to do. But then it continued, and she gently, almost maternally attempted to smooth down his hair. Harry was sure that his jaw had dropped open at this action but instead of doing what his brain was screaming for him to do, which was to bat her hand away, he allowed her to try and flatten his bangs.
Of course it didn't work but she pulled her hand back all the same and gave a small smile. "There," she said, "now that's better." Suddenly her enormous eyes were watering and Harry's stomach gave a guilty squirm.
He wasn't sure why, but she seemed a little closer to him, and she leaned forward a bit, almost as if she was preparing to hug him. She opened her mouth to say something but the honking of a car horn that was clearly in their driveway interrupted her and her mouth snapped shut.
Harry blinked before turning around and opening the door. He picked up his wand and shoved it in his back pocket, then picked up one end of his trunk and his broom.
Leave, a voice in the back of his head shouted, you're finally free! But he stood still, facing the door, the clouds of the dawning sky a mixture of blues and oranges and pinks. The grass was dewy and the forest green caravan shone as the raindrops reflected the morning light. A new dawn and a new life.
He looked over his shoulder, to Aunt Petunia who stood with her arms crossed, almost hugging herself. It was dark in the house, shadows and doubts and sadness encompassing the small front hall, enveloping his aunt. Her lips were set in a thin line and her eyes looked as if they were pleading with him to do something. Something he didn't know he could do. Pleading for his forgiveness.
So he turned and walked out the door of Number 4 Privet Drive without a word, down the well kept walkway to the green caravan. The cold air stung his throat as he took deep breaths, not once faltering in his quick steps toward the car. It was a short walk but it was almost as if everything were playing slow motion. The door in the back slid open and he pushed his trunk inside along with his broom and climbed in after them, slamming the door behind him. He settled back into the car seat, next to a dozing Hermione and a yawning Ron.
He looked out the dusty tinted window to see Aunt Petunia take a few steps outside, clutching her robe around her, watching her sister's son leave, and she knew that she would never hear from him again. They both knew he would never come back. So she waved, as the van pulled out of the driveway and began speeding away from her.
Harry did not wave back.
Harry stared blankly out the window, hours after they'd left the pristine clump of houses of Little Whinging. Hermione's head was bobbing on his shoulder as the van ploughed down the unkempt highway toward her house. The sun was up now, but it was a cloudy grey day, the light of the sun barely shining through the menacing overcast sky. His mind no longer fixed on the guilt that had been gnawing at him after his rather cold exit out of Number 4 Privet Drive, he worked hard to find something else to think of. He was vaguely aware of Ron stretching, his eyes blinking fast as he tried to stay awake.
"Where are we?" he asked gruffly. Harry shrugged.
"Only about ten more minutes, dears." Mrs. Granger called from up front. At this, Harry felt the weight on his shoulder lift as Hermione yawned rather loudly, her eyes blearily looking out the window and taking in the familiar scenery. "What do you all say to a spot of breakfast when we get home?" Mrs. Granger asked as she turned left onto a side road.
Harry was too transfixed with the neighbourhood that had just popped out of nowhere, as if by magic. Lush weeping willows bowed over the sidewalks, which unlike Privet Drive, had boxes full of newspaper, children's tricycles, and all manner of clutter on it. Not that the neighbourhood seemed messy, oh no, but it seemed much more… lived in.
The houses were all different, again unlike Privet Drive where it seemed as though they just used a Duplicating Spell over and over again. Harry had fun picking which houses looked like they would have belonged to people he knew. He first saw a grand looking manor, in white and shamrock green. He smiled to himself; Seamus would definitely be sporting a house like that one. Next door was a grimy unkempt little bungalow, weeds growing up the sides of the dingy house, the lawn growing to knee high length. It looked as though the resident never came outside. Instantly Harry thought of Snape. He wished HE'D never come out of his house.
Suddenly the car was turning into an even smaller crescent, and then on the very corner, Harry saw Mr. Granger in a pink and yellow pinstripe robe, wearing fuzzy white slippers, bending down on the front step retrieving the morning paper. He looked up to see the van pull into the drive and he grinned, waving to them. Both Harry and Ron heard Hermione give an embarrassed cry, her face in her hands, mumbling "Why, why does he always have to wear that?"
They merely grinned at each other. "Come on Hermione." Ron said nudging her shoulder. "I think it quite suits him. Pink's very much his color." Hermione glared as the two boys sniggered openly.
"Oh shut up." She said as she unbuckled herself and opened the car door, climbing out and unceremoniously stepping on Ron's foot.
"Oi, be careful! I've only got two of 'em!" he hollered as she smiled smugly back at him. He shook his head as he rubbed his foot. "Total nutter, don't know why I decided to come here." Harry just smiled. It was nice to be back among his friends, instead of trapped at the Dursley's. He'd missed their bickering.
After collecting their things from the van the two boys stood in the front drive and surveyed the Granger residence. In the front lawn, like many of the other houses, she had a tall willow tree shading the house, a small swing rocking in the slight morning breeze. The house itself was a creamy white with brick siding. It looked quite grand in fact, a black iron railing leading up the white steps to the front door, which was made of brown wood and had three little windows at the head of the door.
Harry and Ron must have been gaping, because Hermione smiled proudly. "You can come inside you know, you don't need to camp out on the lawn." Harry snuck a sideways glance at Ron. He had turned a bit pink and was now staring at the pavement. Harry knew why, he needn't asked. Ron was embarrassed by the Burrow which was mix-matched and shabby. Not that Harry would ever say it aloud, but he much preferred the Burrow to anything else. Even the Granger residence.
Harry elbowed him in the ribs. "Come on, let's get inside, I'm starving." Ron nodded and the two of them lugged their trunks and belongings up the steps and through the open front door.
The smell of bacon and eggs wafted through the well organized front hall. The three friends kicked off their shoes and ambled down the creaking hard wood floorboards, following Hermione into a cramped but visually pleasing and homey kitchen. Hermione hopped up on one of the stools in front of the island as her mother set the plates in front of them. They ate in silence, all of them either too sleepy or too hungry to strain their brains long enough to find a decent conversation starter.
"Letter for you, Dumpling." Mr. Granger said as he absentmindedly sifted through their mail. "Looks as though it's from your mate in America." He slid the small blue envelope across the table to Hermione. Hermione lay her fork down on the side of her plate and ripped open the envelope, pulling a small piece of paper from it. Her eyes darted over it quickly.
"Oh no!" she said as she finished the letter. "Quinn's not coming to Hogwarts anymore!"
"Woff nope Mione?" Ron tried to say around a mouthful of eggs. Mrs. Granger seemed to wince as he did this but said nothing. Hermione shot him a withering look but also chose not to start another row with him.
"It says here she's contracted the Mumbello's Virus." Everyone in the room looked at Hermione quizzically, including her parents. "It's a wizard bug, sort of like the flu I suppose except you break out in big purple boils and cough up prunes." Everyone's face scrunched up as the image of festering purple boils and phlegmy prunes suddenly materialized in their heads.
"Can't they fix her up with a bit of magic?" Mrs. Granger asked as she poured them all a cup of tea. Mr. Granger frowned at this. As Harry remembered it, he hadn't been very keen on using magic to fix his daughter's teeth. He supposed it was the same idea with health issues.
"Mumbello's doesn't really have a cure, nothing you can do but wait for boils to go away I'm afraid." Hermione said sadly, shaking her head slightly. "And we don't have Mumbello's here in England so that's why she can't come. Oh what rotten luck, I was so looking forward to Quinners coming to visit."
"Hey, there's something written on the other side." Ron said pointing to the letter she was still holding. Hermione turned it over and read the next bit aloud.
"'So sorry I couldn't make it Hermione. But Headmistress Spencer said she'd be sending one of my girl friends round in my place. I'll leave it as a surprise, but you are so totally going to be thrilled. Maybe next summer I'll come visit, once I've turned my normal color again. Hope everything's well at Hogwarts! Love, Quinn.'" Hermione finished with a puzzled look on her face.
"Well that doesn't sound so bad dear, you'll still be getting an exchange student, that's alright." Mr. Granger said as he gingerly sipped his tea. Hermione nodded offhandedly.
"Any guess whose coming?" Harry asked curiously before taking his cup of tea from Mrs. Granger. Hermione shook her head.
"It could be anyone really. Salemtops was a boarding school for girls, so it's not as though that really narrows the field." She said staring at the letter. "Ugh, this is going to pester me all weekend, I just know it."
"Ugh, that means it's going to bother us all weekend too. You've always been rather verbal about that kind of thing." Ron said in a mock pout.
This was when Hermione delivered a swift kick to Ron's good foot.