Harry Potter and the Malevolent Affections

Chapter Seven - Prophecy

Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine; the characters taken from the books are the property of JK Rowling. This is a non-profit work of fiction.

An unnerving chill ran through the Dursley household on silent feet. Harry watched icy patterns swirl and spread across the windows with a dull half-interest. He was sitting in his uncles favourite armchair which he'd heaved onto the kitchen table; his throne Abigail had called it. Below him were his school things, strewn about with an idle disregard, like forgotten toys. The myriad of potions he'd been taking had made it easy to force the lock on the cupboard beneath the stairs. He'd wanted to simply smash the door from its hinges but Abigail has stopped him. She said that the small room might be useful later.

Hermione skidded into Diagon Alley, her sturdy footwear saving her from plunging through a large display window that held cauldrons of different sizes. As the hectic mixture of fear adrenalin drained from her body she felt a wave of weariness crash over her. She pulled out her phone and checked the time on the screen, there were a few more hours before she had to catch the return train but she wasn't sure how to spend them. A part of her wanted to give up, to accept the fact that she was wrong and that Harry was perfectly safe. Another part, however, screamed that she should keep looking - after all Hermione Granger was never wrong.

Harry stretched and settled back into his armchair-island which rose out of the encroaching gloom. Ever since Abigail had made her stay permanent the house seemed to have taken on a sinister climate of its own. He could hear his pale skinned possessor singing gently from somewhere above him. The shadows seemed to creep a little closer with every drawn out note. He'd thought about asking her what she was doing but she'd told him to stay out of the way until he was needed and of course he had done.

A cautious hooting sounded from his left; it wasn't Hedwig because she was locked away. He turned towards to sound. An over-fluffed ball of white feathers bobbed towards him. With another soft hoot Ron's owl, Pigwidgeon, landed on his lap. He stared at the tiny bird trying to focus on the glimmer of recognition that glinted in his potion-fogged minds eyes. This owl belonged to someone he knew, someone he'd written to recently. He unfastened, unrolled and read the short letter. By now the room was pitch black - but it didn't matter, his eyes, which were bloodshot and hazy seemed to adjust easily.

Hi Harry!

Thanks for asking me to stay at your place over the summer, Dad was all for it. But I'm afraid Mum wasn't so impressed - seems she wants me somewhere where she can keep an eye on me (and probably you too!) I tried to argue but just ended up having to clean out the broom shed. But you're always welcome to stay here anytime, just write me and we'll pick you up ASAP. Sorry for not being able to come, hope the muggles are treating you well.

From

Ron.

He looked at the owl again and was momentarily taken aback by the fear flickering in the tiny bird's eyes. Something primal whispered from the amber depths, some ancient communication buried by time. It called to him, told him to run. Something was wrong - very wrong. Harry Potter was not supposed to sit on high and play the role of some glorified play thing. Especially to someone, to some creature, like the Abigail. From out of nowhere icy nails plunged into his shoulder sending bolts of pain scintillating down his arm.

"Harry, Harry, Harry," crooned the sinister girl behind him. "Why didn't you tell me we had a visitor?" Harry winced but made no attempt to move the cruel fingers.

"It's just a letter, a letter for me… nothing important." Abigail released her grip.

"Of course it isn't important, I'd have known about it already if it was important." Ron's owl gave one final hoot of warning and bolted off into the darkened house. "After it!" Abigail screeched. Harry stood automatically and began to give chase. Before he knew what he was doing he was making wild grabs at the owl as it raced into the living room. He dived with his arms outstretched, as though playing quiditch minus the broom, the small bird slipped through his fingers and shot up the chimney, he heard it whoop excitedly as it shot into the night sky above and made for home. As he landed his jaw collided with the heavy stone hearth in front of the fireplace. Abigail stamped angrily. "Get up cretin!"

"No…" It took all of his willpower to speak the single syllable.

"Don't argue Harry, it would make me ever so unhappy." Her voice slipped into its familiar simpering tones. He tried to resist again but found that he was already pushing himself to his feet. "I think it's time you had some more cake."

"Yes Abigail."

Hermione scuffed up and down Diagon still deep in dilemma. It would be so easy if she could just sprout wings, fly to Privet Drive, check on Harry and then go home again. Floo powder would have worked wonders but she doubted the Dursley's, of all people, were connected into the vast network of fireplaces. Gradually she made her way back to the Leaky Cauldron, perhaps she would think better after a butter beer or two. As she passed Gringotts she pulled out the handful of wizarding coins she had and counted them. In comparison with the grandly decorated building her small pile seemed extra tiny.

She entered the small tavern and was again struck by the timeless feel of its interior. So much so that she almost failed to notice the tall, white haired wizard sitting in the corner. In fact she would have ignored him completely if it wasn't for the small tap she felt on her shoulder as she walked in.

It couldn't be! She'd already made a fool of herself once and she wasn't about to do it again. - Dumbledore was not sitting opposite her - he couldn't be. But he was.

"Professor?" She kept her distance, still not totally convinced.

"Miss Granger - I hear you've been looking for me." Hermione nodded "Although next time I would advise against going into Nocturn Alley." Beneath his glasses Dumbledore's eyes shone brightly. "Now what can I do for you?"

"But how did you know?" She demanded. He smiled in a kindly way.

"Some phoenixes have excellent eyes and ears." Inwardly she grimaced; she'd been followed - spied on. "Now Miss Granger, what can I do for you?"

"I need to know how Harry is." The headmaster nodded.

"He's spending the summer in France with his aunt and uncle. - I would tell you more but I'm already late for a meeting with the Minister." For a brief moment she thought she saw a glimmer of distaste in Dumbledore's eyes, but before she could be sure it was gone.

"But he isn't. He stayed behind - he's in trouble, I know it!" The headmaster looked at her with a calculating expression.

"I'm sorry Hermione but the people assigned to Harry tell me that he is perfectly fine. I cannot call the Order into force just because you or any other student says otherwise, there is too much at risk." He stood up and turned away. Hermione seethed, the one person she felt sure could help was brushing her aside because he was late for a meeting he didn't want to go to.

At that moment she felt the tenuous tightrope between adult and childhood snap. She, Hermione Granger - a reader of books, a seeker of knowledge - was not going to be thrown some abstract explanation about risks and meetings and be happy with it. She was not going to play the role of a good little student, not if Harry was in danger and she could do something about it.

"Stop right there!" To her surprise Dumbledore stopped, he raised an eyebrow questioningly as he faced her. "Do any of your people know Harry? Do any of your people care about him? Because I do and I as far as I can see he's just a puppet you like to wave at Voldemort…" People began to look in her direction with worry but she carried on. "If he came and told you I was in danger then you'd jump alright - but not because you care about me, or him, but just because he's the boy who lived. And I'm telling you he's in danger! Your precious flag boy is in the fire so what are you going to do about it?!" Dumbledore's eyes blazed, at first she thought it was anger, rage that she'd overstepped her place. But as she met his gaze she realised that there was something more, a burning respect - almost admiration, almost as though he were proud of her.

"The question Miss Granger; is what are you going to do about it?" It dawned on her slowly, he'd been testing her. The meeting and the lack of regard had been hurdles and it looked as though she'd jumped them… but where was she going to land? Dumbledore made a small movement with his hands and at once she felt herself jerked sharply from behind with a crack.

Her feet were no longer standing on the well-worn floor of the Leaky Cauldron. She was in a dark room which, from the echo of her breathing seemed large and never-ending. Dumbledore stood a few feet away, visible only by his outline in the gloom.

"Where am I?" Strangely she didn't feel scared, only curious and anxious to help Harry.

"Very few people know about this place, those that do call it the Hall of the Lion, once it was clear Voldemort had returned I moved some of Hogwarts more important artefacts here for safe keeping." The headmaster clicked his fingers and a large stone basin in front of him burst with blue flames. The fire cast a pale half-light over the surrounding floor.

"What does this have to do with Harry?"

"Nothing… Absolutely nothing."

"What are you talking about?!" She felt another surge of anger towards the old wizard; he always spoke in riddles, even when lives were at stake.

"Do you ever feel Hermione? That some things happen for a greater reason than is apparent at the time?" She just stared at him blankly. "Have you ever wondered why you met Harry? Why you and he have become friends?

"I still don't see what this has to do with Harry Professor."

"I told you - nothing, this Miss Granger, this has to do with you. You're a clever girl, you will realise it for yourself in time and come to understand it more - sufficed to say that you have a little prophecy of your own."

She tightened her grip around her wand, she hadn't even realised she'd pulled it from the loop on her skirt. Inside her head she kept telling herself that this was all wrong. Harry was the one with the destiny, not her. But something, a gut feeling, told her that this was exactly what should be happening. It was the same feeling that had told her Harry was in danger to begin with. "Your wand will be worse than useless. As soon as you use it you'll be expelled."

"I don't care. Just take me to Harry."

"There are some things more powerful than wands Hermione. Look behind you." She turned around, impatient, now she had made up her mind to follow the madness, to be on her way. Something glinted at her from a simple stone plinth. A long metal blade shone in the fire light. She recognised it; Harry had pulled it from the sorting hat in what seemed like an age ago. Laying her wand down she lifted the Gryffindor Sword, it took both hands and made her shoulders ache but she could just about wield the ancient weapon. As it moved it rang a keen metal note. Under any other circumstance she would have felt ridiculous, there was no way she could use a sword. But again something told her she was right, part of the same indescribable feeling. "Before you go, know this - I care deeply about each of my students, far more so than I care about myself. Good luck Hermione. Are you ready?"

She nodded.