Many apologies for the massive delay. Thanks to all who read/reviewed. I may not update often, but I haven't given up on it. I just have a life.
Thicker Than Blood"
Chapter Three
Robin sipped the orange liquid anxiously. It was sweet and satisfying and rich. Her friendly abductor – who had introduced herself as Hermione Granger – called it pumpkin juice.
"You're not a first year, are you?" Hermione suddenly asked.
Robin turned to look at her. "First year?"
"A first year student? I thought you might be because when I first saw you, you looked young. But you're not that young, are you?"
"What is young?"
"Well, I'm thirteen."
"You seem much older than that, I must say."
"How old are you?"
Robin hesitated. I shouldn't say. I need to find Amon. "I really can't stay here," she said aloud.
"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione scowled at her. "You can't go wandering off on your own. Especially not now that Professor Dumbledore has called us all back to Hogwarts."
"What?"
Hermione fell silent abruptly, regarding Robin with a piercing gaze. "You are a witch, aren't you? You said you were."
"Yes, I am a witch."
"Then, why don't you know all this? Didn't you get the owl?"
"The what?"
"You're not English, are you?"
Robin shifted uncomfortably.
"But you're not American. Where did you come from?"
"Hermione."
"Hermione!" a sudden shout from the hall of the train caused both girls to turn. In the doorway of their room stood a tall, lanky boy with flaming red hair and more freckles than Robin could count.
"Ron!" Hermione grinned. "You made it, I see."
"Yeah. Who's that?"
"This is Robin," Hermione gestured. "Robin, this is Ronald Weasley, the friend I told you about. I'm in the process of figuring out where she came from, Ron. She's not very helpful."
Ron rolled his eyes and sat down in the seats across from them. "If you can't figure it out, no one will."
Robin jumped as the train began to move.
"I really cannot stay on this train."
"Are you mental?" Ron gaped at her. "With those hunters out there?"
Robin stopped short, feeling her heart drop into her stomach.
"Hunters?" Hermione leaned forward. "Ron, what are you talking about?"
"Well, that's the rumor anyway," Ron brightened, obviously thrilled at having information that his brilliant friend did not. "Mum wouldn't say anything, but Fred and George overheard Dad talking through the floo this morning. Something about hunters coming to London."
"I bet that's why Professor Dumbledore is calling us back to Hogwarts. To protect us."
"Speaking of protecting," Ron frowned deeply, "where's Harry? Shouldn't he be here?"
"Maybe he's on the train already," Hermione stood and peered out the door both ways.
"Bloody hell," Ron muttered, "what if he didn't get an owl?"
"Of course, he would have gotten an owl, Ronald. The ministry wouldn't forget about Harry. They'd probably send someone to pick him up, if anything."
"Then why isn't he here?"
"He might be. Just because he's not in this compartment, doesn't mean his not on the train, Ronald. He has other friends. Maybe he's checking on Neville. You know how Neville gets."
Ron propped his feet up on the other side of the seat and grumbled something under his breath. Robin did not lean back. She sat straight, watching the land outside her darken with the passing minutes.
HP – WHR – HP – WHR – HP
Amon paid the taxi driver his considerable sum and slid out of the back seat. It had been a relatively long drive to Surrey, south of London, and night was beginning to descend. The black van had pulled into a quiet suburban neighborhood and had parked in the shadows of a rather large tree on a street called Privet Drive.
Amon slipped behind another tree and waited. The van was not moving, and no one was coming out. All the houses looked exactly the same. It was impossible to tell which one the van was watching.
A hooting sound suddenly drew his attention upward. A large gray owl perched on a tree branch above him. As his sharp eyes adjusted to the shadowy light, he realized that the tree was full of owls. With a casual glance, he counted more than thirty. He looked toward another large tree and spied another thirty owls within it.
"What the—" he started and stopped as his gaze settled on a large pile of letters stacked in the yard of house number four.
The letters and the owls were the only oddities in an otherwise normal neighborhood. All the other houses were exactly alike, down to the flowers in the flowerbeds and the curtains hanging in the windows.
"Must be." He pulled away from the tree and moved stealthily behind another house, heading in the direction of Number Four, Privet Drive.
HP – WHR – HP – WHR – HP
The room was stifling, hot and uncomfortable, but thirteen-year-old Harry Potter did not stir from the floor of his dimly lit room. He would rather be hot and uncomfortable than in the company of his family.
Family. Why did he still consider them to be his family when they hated him?
If only we could have convinced everyone that Sirius was innocent, Harry thought to himself, sadly drawing his legs to his chest and resting his chin on his knees. "We could have gone to live with him. Would you have liked that, Hedwig?" he turned to the snowy owl in the cage across the room. "Living with Sirius, we could have lots of open space, and you could fly around all day. And I'd fly with you." He thought fondly of his Thunderbolt racing broom, the one Sirius had bought for him anonymously. "I bet Sirius is a top notch Quidditch player."
He glanced at the enchanted photograph on his bed stand, the image of a man with wild black hair dancing with a beautiful woman in a park. Both of them were smiling and happy, joyous in each other's company. His mother and father.
His eyes moved to the cracked mirror on his wall. His mother's green eyes looked back at him, mostly hidden by a shaggy mane of impossible black hair. On a sudden impulse, he pulled back his thick bangs, revealing the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead.
A reminder of the night almost thirteen years ago when his parents had been murdered. When he himself had nearly been killed.
"Potter!" a harsh howl sounded from downstairs, the noise shaking the walls. "Get down here and do these dishes!"
Uncle Vernon.
Harry felt his stomach turning, but he stood up anyway and moved toward the door. Hedwig suddenly began to squeak and chip loudly. Harry stopped with his hand on the doorknob and looked back at her.
"What's wrong, Hedwig?"
The owl continued to hoot and trill, biting at the lock on her cage.
Harry let go of the doorknob and returned to stand by her cage. "You've been awfully quiet all day," he commented, sticking his finger through the bars for the owl to nibble. She ignored him and continued to gnaw on the lock. "Something's wrong, isn't it? I wish you could tell me."
HP – WHR – HP – WHR – HP
Amon peered around the corner of the house and glared at the black van. It still had not moved. He glanced at the ground and kneeled. More letters covered the lawn. Curiously, he picked up one of the letters. It was old, thick parchment, sealed with wax on the back, and addressed to someone named Harry Potter.
"Whoever sent this must want to get a hold of Mr. Potter," Amon grumbled to himself, looking again at the letter piles all over the yard.
He stopped short as a loud hoot overhead drew his breath upward. A great horned owl was soaring toward the house, carrying a letter in its talons. Amon watched as it came closer and closer to the house.
And promptly vanished in a puff of smoke and feathers. The letter, however, fell to the lawn. Amon felt a familiar shiver whisper down his spine.
A craft user, he thought. There's a craft user around here somewhere.
The door of the black van suddenly burst open, and fifteen SOLOMON Orbo troops charged toward Number Four, Privet Drive.
What's happening here? his mind was awhirl with questions as the troopers stormed the house, bashing in the windows and doors. Amon could hear screams inside. I thought SOLOMON discontinued the Orbo project once Zaizen went down.
He pulled his gun out of his coat and checked it for the special bullets he carried. He cocked it, and he moved toward the front door.
If these troops have Robin, this is the best way to get to her.
HP – WHR – HP – WHR – HP
Ron and Hermione had been chattering constantly about their friend Harry. By asking a few terse questions, Robin had learned that this friend of theirs was the last hope for the survival of witches and wizards everywhere. He was the only person to have ever defeated the most powerful wizard in the world, and, apparently, this Harry Potter had done it three times, once as an infant and twice during his attendance at Hogwarts.
"His name is Voldemort," Hermione had said. "The dark wizard who murdered Harry's parents."
"Don't say his name!" Ron had folded in on himself and covered his ears.
"Honestly, Ronald. Remember? Fear of a name increases the fear of a thing. Harry's not afraid of Voldemort. So neither should we be afraid of him."
Robin was lost in her thoughts as the train sped on through the night. How am I ever going to find Amon? I can't tell them who I am. They'll realize my connection with SOLOMON. I could escape, she glanced at the two friends who were deep in conversation, but I don't want to hurt anyone. No, the best thing to do is to go to this school of theirs and then escape as soon as I arrive. Hopefully Amon won't be too angry.
A knock sounded on the door, and the three teenagers turned.
A small, old woman wearing a tall pointed hat stood in the doorway. The instant she saw Robin, however, her eyes turned sharp and cold.
"Professor McGonagall," Hermione smiled brightly. "What are you doing on the train?"
"Who is this, and what is she doing here?" the older woman demanded shortly.
Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance.
"Professor," Hermione cleared her throat, "this is Robin. Robin, this is Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House."
Robin felt her throat constricting in panic as the old woman's gaze did not soften.
She knows! Robin thought wildly. Somehow, she knows!
"She said she was a witch, Professor," Hermione was standing now.
"She is not a Hogwarts student, of this I am certain," McGonagall said. "Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, please come with me."
Hermione and Ron walked to where the old woman was standing and watched in horror as she closed the door and set a locking charm on it. Inside, Robin gasped as the entire compartment darkened and sealed itself.
She stood and placed her hand on the door and jerked it back as an electric shot surged through her fingertips. A flame appeared briefly in her luminous green eyes, but she stifled it quickly.
"Calm," she whispered to herself. "Keep calm. Fighting now is not the right course. These people are obviously not of SOLOMON, and if they are running from Hunters, then they should be sympathetic – as long as they do not know the whole truth, that is. Perhaps the enemy of my enemy really will be my friend."
She touched the door again and scowled at the shock.
"Or perhaps the enemy of my enemy will still be my enemy."