Harry sighed as the potion he was brewing finally stopped bubbling, and the dark, sparkling purple changed into a disgusting, black-colored liquid that, as he raised the steel ladle, ate away at almost anything. He threw the ruined instrument away and put out the fire underneath the cauldron, a bit relieved the potion was done. It was the most unpleasant of all of them to make, it smelled, and a constant stream of hot, thick smoke always seemed to rise from it.
He didn't bother to conceal it or anything of the sort, as once the potion was made it couldn't ruin. He stretched, popping his vertebra, before turning to patrol the other potions.
He stopped at the potion for color change in hair, and added more crushed cockroaches, and intensified the heat underneath it by almost ten-fold. He picked up the cosmetic magazine once more and scanned through the instructions. Let simmer for an hour after adding the cockroaches and turning up the heat, then let set for another hour at room temperature before using.
He left that potion and walked to the one he had conjured to change the color of his eyes. He wasn't sure what color they would come out, either blue or green. A duller green would work just as well as a blue, just as long as it was a different one than his.
He added the salamander blood and the lacewings, stirring slowly. Drawing his conclusion from the amount of steam coming from the cauldron, he needed to let that sit for another three hours.
He moved past it onto the heightening potion, a rather more complicated one. It was fine, just needed to set for a few more hours, so he moved onto the last one, the one used to diminish his scar. He wasn't sure if it would be able to cover the scar on his forehead, but it would be extremely useful in covering the numerous other scars that covered his body.
That potion was already finished. He took a flagon of it, and, bracing himself, forced it down his throat, trying not to splutter and spit it back up.
It tasted like melted chalk. Yes, that was accurate, melted chalk mixed with… burning acid. He finished it and coughed, throwing the flagon down.
He waved his wand and the remainder of the potion disappeared, leaving the cauldron clean.
After the ordeal with the fretful Cassandra, time had passed slowly, as he spent most of it working on numerous potions and trying to gain as much information as he could from various magazines and newspapers without attracting attention.
He exited the room and closed the door behind him, feeling drowsy. The potion's side effects, he knew that was all it was, but still, he was feeling light-headed.
He managed to make it to the living room and fell lazily into one of the armchairs. Charlie himself was asleep as well, and Cassandra was laying on the couch in a daze. He couldn't think anymore as sleep finally overtook him.
Sirius rubbed his eyes, sighing in frustration. A few weeks before, the Minister had decided that since they had the famous Sirius Black on their team, they could double their workload. Every single one had a thick stack of paperwork to do, and every other day they would head out to search, or in most cases nowadays, track down other criminals that had nothing to do with the Dark Lord.
He was losing sleep and his stress was mounting at a dangerous level. A few times, he had forced himself to head down to the Auror training gym and beat one of the punching bags until he could hardly stand to move from muscle strain… though he did always require a good, dreamless rest afterward.
He was at home, and even though it was his one day off the this week, he had far too much work to do to rest. He had started his paperwork first thing in the morning, and it was about two in the morning.
He signed the paper in front of him at the bottom and finally pushed the pile to the side, throwing the quill down. He pushed his chair from the desk and leaned back, and after a fruitless moment of trying to find any comfortable position, got up and went to bed, still trying to keep from stumbling as he walked.
He awoke, his alarm screaming annoyingly loud. Sirius curled up under his bedcovers and prayed it would stop, but after a moment of brooding on everything he had to do today, he finally got up, shutting the damn thing off as he did.
He dressed and washed quickly, heading to his front room (the only one that could be apparated in and out of) and disappeared to the Ministry with a loud cracking sound.
He entered the office. Everyone else was already there, even Rikku, who wasn't in her own office, instead sitting in Sirius' chair, chewing on the end of a quill while she read over a piece of parchment.
"Your late." she said pointedly when he approached.
"I know." he replied shortly, stepping behind her. "and your in my desk."
"Yes, I am, and I'm looking over your report. You seem to know a lot about old Pureblood families."
"Unfortunately. Mind if I sit?" he asked, a sarcastic edge to his voice. "I've got work to do."
"Don't have to be rude." she said, getting up.
"Someone's in a bad mood." Chrissy said pointedly.
He said nothing as he took his seat, though he sighed. Chrissy quickly imitated the sound, leaning back in her chair and putting the back of her hand to her forehead, feigning distress. Lonnie laughed softly, shaking his head, while the others grinned and rolled their eyes. "I'm joking." Chrissy told him, raising an eyebrow.
He was still silent as he pulled out another report. He needed to finish.
"Like I said." she retorted. "Bad mood."
Molly Weasley sighed to herself. She pulled the pictures of her grandchildren toward her and examined them closely.
Luke and Benjamin, Percy's sons. Just like he was, she thought. They loved reading, writing, anything of the sort. They both dreamed of nothing more than excelling to prove themselves to their parents, just like Percy had, before he let himself become blinded. She knew they would both go far. She smiled at the picture; both were fighting over a book from their father's library. The short red hair they were proud of, but no one mentioned their height unless they were trying to get them angry. She shook her head. They would grow, they just didn't know it yet.
She looked at another picture. This one had captured Adam and Connor, both wearing grins that only complemented the handsome look their bright red hair gave them. They were grinning because they had just set their sister off, no doubt. She was so happy when she heard her youngest son had fallen in love with such a wonderful woman as Hermione Granger had turned out to be.
She pulled the picture of Sophie toward her. The genes from her mother's side had given her hair big, bouncy curls, and bright blue eyes, though she carried the trademark red. Though her temper was rather easily set off by her brothers, she was a naturally good person.
She looked then at the photograph of Emily and Callum. Thy were only cousins, yet they were closer than most brothers and sister. Emily, with her dark skin and black hair, and her hereditary love for chaos, and Callum, with his long red hair, (he, like his uncle, refused to cut it) light complexion that never seemed to tan, and his handsome face he had received from the men in his mother's family. Both were tall for their age, and both were looking forward to working with their fathers when they graduated.
Her gaze fell on the pictures of Charlotte, her oldest grandchild. She was such a… well, she didn't know what to call her, but she certainly liked her share of attention from the opposite sex. Her mother, she supposed, had been like that. Her thick red hair was the only thing she got from the Weasley family; she had her mothers- well, everything else, not to mention that she was the first Weasley not to be in Gryffindor. She really was a sweet girl, though.
Molly had to grin as she examined the picture of Bart, sticking his tongue out at the camera. He would grow to be a strong one, she could feel it.
And Percival; too young to tell, she thought. Only five months old. But she had high hopes.
She felt melancholy falling upon her again. Hopes. That's all she had. That was all she had for Harry, too, and he had turned out…
She remembered the gradual change; remembered his girlfriend Cho's strange behavior before they had found out the truth, remembered his attitude problem as he grew older, remembered how there had never been an explanation for it. She remembered, how when she had started dreaming about grandchildren, she had dreamed of his future children and thought of them as her own. Blood wasn't everything; she had always thought of him as family.
She sometimes wondered if he knew how he had destroyed so many lives. Everyone had something to keep them going; her and her husband had their grandchildren. But what if he took those from her?
Ron had his career, his children, and his wife. What if those were taken from him?
Her other two sons, Bill and Charlie. Bill had his family, and Charlie had his career. What if those were taken as well?
The twins had their business, and their wives. What if those were taken?
Remus Lupin had nothing left but his best friend, Sirius. What if Harry took that?
And Sirius. She never could really figure out what kept him going. He had no wife, no family, no girlfriend, and his only real friend left was Lupin. He worked more than anyone she knew… he worked, she supposed, to keep himself from thinking.
Cho Chang, she thought to herself. She shook her head. She knew what kept that girl going. Revenge. That's all she wanted. Molly had heard rumors of the numerous men she'd had… relationships with, and rumors of the rumors the men told of her. She didn't know if they were true or not; she had gradually figured out, years before Harry had revealed his true self, when they had still been a regular couple, that they had already given their virginity to each other, but she didn't think Cho was the kind of girl to do the things the men always told their buddies in the bars.
She could feel tears falling, and she quickly brushed them away. She was tired of remembering the past. She wanted to focus on the future.
"School stars in a we- eek… School starts in a we- eek…" Luke hopped around the room, singing in a very uncharacteristic way.
"Do you think it's true?" Emily asked Callum quietly. He chewed on his bottom lip.
"I don't know. Dad won't tell me about the Sorting. I suppose we'll just have to find out for ourselves."
"But… there can't be a troll. Charlotte was making that up, wasn't she?"
"I don't know!" Callum said, shaking his head. "I guess we'll just have to wait. Stop talking about it!"
"Okay…" she said, looking at her feet, then at the window. "Letters should have come by now. Wonder what's taking them so long…"
"Dunno." Benjamin said, looking out of the window longingly.
Cho sat in her desk, in her classroom at Hogwarts, thinking to herself. She couldn't wait much longer; she was going to have to make sure the letters were sent out for the future students. But she couldn't do it without the supply list, which couldn't be made until Dumbledore found a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.
She couldn't talk with him on the matter; she knew he was trying. She instead focused her free time on Blake, whom she had gotten to know rather well.
He was the same age as her, twenty-eight. His dream was to be a professional Quidditch player; she hadn't seen him play yet, but she doubted he had enough talent to make it professionally. It was rather sweet that he was still chasing his dream, yet…
"Alright." Harry said to himself. "Time to work this all out."
He braced himself. He had finished all of the potions, and taken them all. He knew his long, unkempt hair was a different color, as well as his eyes, not to mention he had shot up a few inches. He would still need to clean up a bit, but he was nervous to see the 'new him.' He stepped in front of the mirror.
He gasped.
This couldn't be him…
No, it couldn't be…
The mirror was broken, wasn't it?
His father's thin face had taken on a stronger jaw, a handsome one. His eyes, once emerald green and almond shaped, were a mix… the right a blue-gray, the left a faded green. His teeth were whiter, and his nose was bigger, though it fit his structure well. Leaning toward the mirror, he gasped when he saw a thin, almost invisible white line on his forehead. The scar hasn't disappeared all the way, just diminished to a faint, almost unnoticeable fracture of the skin.
His hair seemed to have grown itself out; four or five inches of a sickeningly golden blonde color, still with the black attached. He frowned at his posture. His arms and legs had gotten longer, and he walked with a slouch, much like Ron. He straightened up, smirking suddenly at how much taller he seemed. Intimidating.
He took a breath and tried to look calm. He glanced at himself, trying to memorize his features. He didn't want to be caught too early in the game by something as simple as hair color.
Days had passed. How many, Harry wasn't sure, but he did know there was only a week left until school started. He didn't have long, and he hoped that Dumbledore hadn't already found another teacher.
He looked in the mirror and repeated everything he had been memorizing; his new name, height, average weight, where he went to school, old friends and girlfriends, what he was like… it hadn't been as simple as he thought, coming up with at least a vague history for his alias, not to mention things like licenses and ID cards. But he had done it.
He walked back into Charlie's bedroom, checking and re-checking that he had everything packed. Robes, clothes, a few pairs of shoes, books, magazines, most everything an average person would have. He even cast a spell on his wand to change it's appearance; as long as he kept it away from old Ollivander, everything would be fine.
He looked at himself one more time in the mirror and sighed nervously. The thin, black leather eye patch was necessary. Strapped around his head, it was the perfect shape to cover the space on his forehead where the scar was, as well as his brighter eye. "This is it." he told himself.
He released both Charlie and the girl from their bonds; after, of course, he wiped their memory's and repaired everything in their home, erasing any trace that he had been there. He smirked to himself when he imagined their reactions when they awoke, confused and dazed, once again underneath the bear-skin rug. They would probably assume they had gotten drunk or something.
He managed to reach London with a mix of Apparating, walking, flying and muggle transportation. He continuously looked over his shoulder, expecting to see a flock of Aurors after him. He shuddered at the thought.
The hustle of London mid-afternoon muggles didn't even spare him the time of day, except perhaps to glance up at the leather patch and raise their eyebrows. He found his way to the Leaky Cauldron with no difficulty.
Entering, he pretended to look carefully around, as though he had never been there before. He tried to act ignorant but not stupid as he asked Tom if he was the barkeeper.
"Sure am, sir." he said, nodding once. "Would you like a drink? Or a room?"
"A room." he said, glancing up at the staircase. He picked up his suitcases and followed Tom, paying and accepting the key. Tom didn't even shoot him a second glance.
He walked into the room and shut the door, his heart pounding. Tom hadn't recognized him at all. He really hadn't. (The eye patch, he knew, was acceptable in the Wizarding World, not even considered strange.)
He set the suitcases on the floor; all had gone smooth so far. Now came the hard part.
Dumbledore.
(Fifth Year)
Harry awoke that morning, his dream still fresh in his mind. He was going to tell Ron as soon as Seamus and Dean had left for classes, but to his horror he realized that everyone had already gone.
He had overslept!
He leapt up, throwing off his pajamas and quickly changing into his robes. He pulled on his socks and shoes as he rushed down the stairs, only to return once again to retrieve his schoolbooks.
By the time he reached the Great Hall, breakfast was nearly over. He quickly found Ron and Hermione, and was about to tell them about his dream, but stopped when he saw the looks on their faces.
"What?" he asked, confused. "Hermione, what's wrong? Ron?"
Ron handed him that morning's paper. Harry glanced at the cover and saw ten black and white photographs. He looked at the title, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN
MINISTRY FEARS BLACK IS "RALLYING POINT"
FOR OLD DEATH EATERS
He didn't bother to read the rest. He tossed the paper back to Ron and hastily began explaining his dream to them, (just the part about Voldemort, however) and just as he had finished the bell rang.
"Hermione!" Ron cried, as she took off down the hall. We've got Transfiguration! Where are you going?"
"I'll see you later, guys!" she called out. "I've got to send a letter!"
With so much more to do- increasing amounts of homework that kept the fifth years up past midnight, secret D.A. meetings, and more strange dreams about a book and long corridors- January seemed to be passing alarmingly fast. Before Harry even realized, February had arrived, bringing with it wetter and warmer weather, as well as the prospect of the second Hogsmeade visit of the year. Harry had almost no time to spare on conversation with Cho since they had agreed to visit the village together, but Harry suddenly found himself at Valentine's Day, about to spend the entire day in her company.
Harry awoke the morning of the fourteenth, a strange feeling in his stomach and his scar prickling even more than usual. As he dressed, (being particularly careful) he blamed in on nervousness, but something still bothered him. He wasn't sure what it was, but after a few moments he felt rather sick.
"Harry, calm down." Ron said, looking at him as they headed down the boys' staircase. "I know you've liked her for awhile, but you've got to relax."
"What?" Harry said, taking a breath and looking at Ron. "I didn't say I was nervous."
"You pale and sweaty."
"Oh." he shrugged, laughing nervously. He felt sick to his stomach. "I guess I'm a little nervous."
He sat with Ron and Hermione in the Great Hall. Not many students were up yet; it was eight-thirty, but most students slept in late on the weekends. Hermione looked concerned as well, especially after he tried and failed to eat breakfast.
"Forget it." he said, shaking his head. The look and smell of bacon had his stomach churning. "I'll eat in Hogsmeade."
Just as he stood to leave, Hermione grabbed his arm and stopped him. "Wait!"
"What?" He turned and followed her gaze upward. A brown owl swooped down onto their table, flinging the hot cereal over Ron.
He screeched and jumped up, much to the amusement of those around him. Hermione ignored him ad snatched the letter from the owl.
Ron swore loudly and stormed out, dripping food behind him that several other post owls began flocking toward. Hermione read the letter in less than a minute before excitedly looking up toward Harry.
"Listen, Harry," she said quickly. "This is important… I need you to meet me in the Three Broomsticks around midday, alright?"
"I don't know." he said thoughtfully. "What if Cho-"
"It's important, Harry! Bring her if you have to, but just come!"
"Why, though?"
"I haven't got time to tell you, but just be there, alright?" Before he could answer her, she rushed out of he Hall. Glancing at his watch, he realized with a jolt that it was only five minutes until nine. He rushed to the front of the Hall, ignoring the suddenly increasing pain that had began throbbing in his scar.
She was waiting by the door for him. He thought she looked very pretty with her hair pulled back, but he was far too nervous to say anything. They exchanged awkward greetings. Harry found it somehow difficult to listen to what she was saying as they left, the pain in his forehead sending a ringing to his ears.
"So… where d'you want to go?" he asked as they entered Hogsmeade. The High Street was full of students running up and down, messing about together or looking into shop windows.
"Oh… I don't know." she said, looking around rather nervously. "Let's just walk around the shops for a bit."
They wondered toward Dervish and Banges. A large poster had been stuck up and a few Hogsmeaders were reading intently. As Harry and Cho approached, they moved aside, and Harry once again found himself staring at the ten escaped Death Eaters. The sign read that a thousand galleon reward was offered for anyone who had information leading o their capture. The pain in his scar suddenly diminished.
"It's strange, isn't it?"
"Hmm?" Harry murmured, looking at her.
"I mean," she said in a low voice. "Remember when that Sirius Black escaped, and there were dementors all over Hogsmeade looking for him? And now, ten Death Eaters have escaped, and there aren't dementors anywhere…"
"Yeah, it's weird…" Harry's eyes were glued to the picture of Bellatrix Lestrange, a funny swirling in his gut. He shook himself as his palms started to sweat. "You wanna head to another shop?"
"Sure…" she followed him as he quickly turned and walked briskly down the street, the feeling remaining nonetheless. Every shop window they passed had had the same picture- and every time he saw it the strange feelings intensified. By the time they reached the end of the street, he felt as though he were about to faint, but something told him it wasn't stress or anxiety. It was something else.
Cho didn't seem to notice as she led him to a coffee shop up the street, a small place that was decorated horribly with pink bows and frills. Harry still managed a fake smile as they entered, ignoring the sudden shots of pain shooting through his body. What was happening?
There was one table left, beside the window. Harry frowned at Roger Davies, who was sitting with a pretty blonde girl, already with his tongue down her throat.
The pain had vanished, and Harry suddenly felt a strange sense of calm rest over him. Something seemed foreign, out of place… but he couldn't' quite place it. He didn't really feel like himself. I'm probably just nervous, he thought to himself. I need to calm down, or this date could be a disaster.
"I'll see you, Harry!" she sobbed, throwing down the napkin and flinging the door open. Harry could feel the surrounding stares as she stormed out, and his first thought was too let her go and sneak out without too much embarrassment; this thought, however, disappeared as quickly as it came.
He leapt out of his chair and followed her out of the coffee shop, squinting as heavy raindrops struck his face. He narrowed his eyes and spotted her outline, running down the street as fast as she could. She tripped on her feet, and fell to the ground. Harry was already rushing after her and he didn't slow down, even though it looked like she wasn't going to get up.
When he reached her, she was still on the ground, with her head in her hands, sobbing harder than before. Without stopping to think, he grabbed her and pulled her to her feet.
"What are you-"
"Listen to me!" he cried over the roar of the wind and rain. He didn't know if she could hear him. He spotted a nearby alleyway and quickly pulled both of them into it, stepping carefully so he wouldn't slip.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, her eyes red as she turned around to glare at him. He grabbed one of her hands in his.
The wind was still howling, but the rain could hit them where they stood. "I wanted to apologize." he cried, his voice meaningful. He felt something like embarrassment after saying this. Where had this sudden surge of courage come from? "I shouldn't have been so ignorant… but, it's just…" he sighed. She looked up at him.
"What?" she asked, waiting anxiously.
"I don't want to forget, but, I don't want to have to remember all the time." he watched her carefully. "You know what I mean?"
"Kind of." she said, looking down. "I shouldn't' have made a scene. I'm sorry about that… I guess I could've been a bit more mature about that-"
She stopped talking; she couldn't. Unsure of what exactly he was doing (or why), he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her toward him, pushing his mouth against hers.
He didn't know what he expected her to do, but he was surprised when she suddenly went limp, falling against him. He managed (somehow) to seize his senses and pull away from her, gasping (both from sudden realization and from the feeling of the kiss) and muttered a pathetic apology. What was wrong with him?
Fear stabbed at his chest. He couldn't talk. He bit his lip and watched her, expecting to be slapped in the face at any given moment. He was unable to read her expression, but could only feel relieved when she (in place of striking him senseless) reached up and pulled him against her, in the same place they had been before. His heart almost flew out of his throat.
His first thought was to run, away from the awkward situation he had created, but something forced him to stay, something forced him to kiss her back, and something forced a small sound to erupt from his throat, a sound that was not quite a moan but something close.
Harry awoke the next morning to a heavy weight on his face. For a moment, he thought someone was smothering him, and pushed the pillow away, gasping for air. Hermione was standing beside his bed, and after a few seconds, she hit him across the face with the pillow, her expression livid.
"What the hell, Hermione-"
"Where were you?" she asked angrily. Behind her, Harry could see Seamus and Dean looking over their curtains, curious.
"What are you talking about?" he asked coldly, feeling his face to see if his nose was bleeding. It wasn't.
"I'm talking about Hogsmeade! You were supposed to meet me in the Three Broomsticks!" She hit him over the head with each work. "Where- were- you?"
He pulled the pillow out of her hands. "I forgot!" he yelled, glaring at her.
"Forgot? How could you have forgotten?"
"I-" he stopped. He could feel a blush creeping up his neck. He spoke in a harsh whisper. "I was with Cho, okay?"
"Right." she snorted, throwing her hands up.
"What does that mean?" Harry asked her, a suspicious tone in his voice. "What does that mean? You don't believe me?"
"Harry." she said, her arms falling limp at her sides. "You are hardly the type-"
"Hardly the type for what?" he demanded coldly.
"Hardly the type to forget about something so important because of a lunch date with a girl!"
"How the hell would you know?" he spat, throwing the pillow back into her arms. "Get the hell out of the boys' dorms before I call Professor McGonagall!"
"Harry," Neville said, rubbing his eyes and looking at him. "What the heck-"
"Hermione's just bothering us again." he said irritably, turning away from her.
"Fine!" she snapped, throwing him the pillow. "Never mind it, then! I was only trying to help you, Harry!"
"Don't start crying again!" he added at her tone, turning back around to look at her. "It's not going to work!"
She didn't say anything. She simply turned, glaring, and stormed out of the room. He could heard Ron snickering.
"What are you laughing at?" Neville asked him, confused.
"I can see why Harry would be mad," he said sarcastically, yet amusedly. "I mean, I saw him sucking on Cho's face yesterday, and who wouldn't be in a bad mood after that?"
The other three burst out laughing as Harry blushed and closed the curtains. "Shut up!" he croaked. They laughed even harder.
"Aw, come on, Harry. Everyone saw you guys in the alleyway. You better get used to it."
Harry groaned again and pulled at his hair. Today was not going to be a good day.
