Title: In the Arms of the Angel
Authors: KittyKaty (with conceptual assistance from her somewhat-annoying- but-still-cute, Harry-Potter-obsessed step brother, Noah).
Rating: PG
Summary: Harry is offered a wonderful gift, but a horrible choice - James, Lily, or Sirius? Post OotP (coughSPOILERScough).
Disclaimer: I'm not JKR?! What are you talking about - of course I am! *blinks* Oh, never mind...I own Liviana (no, not the same Liviana from "Everything you Know is Wrong"), not Harry, or Ron, or Hermione, or Sirius, or Dumbledore, or...you see where I'm going with this? Okay then...Oh, yeah, and the title & lyrics are from the song "Angel" by Sarah McLaughlan.
*~Chapter One~*
"...in the arms of an angel, fly away from here...
...you're in the arms of the angel, may you find some comfort there..."
~Sarah McLaughlan, Angel~
Harry Potter's 16th birthday was perhaps a dark and stormy night. Or perhaps it was a clear, sunny day. Either way to Harry, it didn't matter. This was because he really couldn't tell - for the first time in five years, he found himself locked in the small, dingy cupboard under the stairs. Despite the warning the Dursley's had received from Moody, Lupin, and the Weasleys at Kings Cross Station, they hadn't allowed 16-year- old Harry any contact to the outside world - wizarding or muggle. Upon arrival at number 4, Vernon Dursley had promptly thrown Harry into the small cupboard, and locked him in. As Harry had massaged his now-bruised arm, Vernon had yelled through the door that he would not put his family in danger just because some power-hungry freak had picked Harry as his next target. From what Harry could tell by eavesdropping through the cupboard door, Vernon had told any muggle who asked that Harry had finally been arrested and shipped off to the penitentiary.
Harry was only allowed out twice a day to use the washroom (with the blinds closed, of course, so no one would spot "the boy"), and every evening Aunt Petunia's bony hand shoved a pitiful meal in through the door - water and stale bread, water and old soup, or whatever was lying around in the back of the fridge that didn't really smell quite right. As in his second year, Harry was forced to share a part of his meal with Hedwig, who was also locked in the cupboard with him.
Harry sighed. The only thing he could do while locked in his small cupboard was dwell on the fact that, were it not for his superiority complex, he would never have rushed to the Department of Mysteries, and Sirius would still be alive. He had once again cost someone close to him their life. He closed his eyes, trying to block out these thoughts, but was only haunted by images of Sirius, Cedric, James and Lily. He had single-handedly managed to get them all killed, all because of some stupid prophecy he didn't even know about.
A small part of his mind, the selfish part that sounded suspiciously like Draco Malfoy, told Harry that it wasn't his fault. Dumbledore was to blame. Dumbledore should have forced himself into the role of the Potter's Secret Keeper. He should have realized that Mad Eye Moody was really Barty Crouch Jr. And he most certainly should have told Harry about the prophecy, and why it was so imperative that he study Occlumency to the best of his abilities.
But Harry dismissed these thoughts as quickly as they had come. Dumbledore wasn't God, and he couldn't predict the future. He had always made every choice in Harry's best interests, and had never intentionally put him or his loved ones in harm's way. Harry knew that making excuses for his mistakes was pointless, because it would never bring them back. It would never bring Sirius back. Harry angrily wiped the fast-forming tears out of his eyes. What right did he have to cry over them? It was his fault they were dead.
Harry heard the telephone ring quietly out in the sitting room. Not that it really mattered to him who it was, but it gave him something to listen to. He pressed his ear to the door as someone picked up the phone. He pulled it back quickly, though, when he heard the unintelligible outraged shouts of his uncle. Maybe that wasn't the something he wanted to listen to, he told himself.
In an attempt to distract himself, Harry let his eyes wander over the contents of the cramped cupboard. The advantage to being locked in the cupboard under the stairs (if there was such a thing) was that not only did it house himself and Hedwig, but also all of his school things. Of course, this also made for even less room then there had been to begin with. Harry had successfully managed to get anything major, such as his trunk and his Firebolt, underneath of the small bed. However, Hedwig's cage sat at the end of the bed, because there was no room for it anywhere else. This made sleeping quite difficult.
Glancing around, Harry spotted a small gold ring on a chain perched on the shelf at the head of his bed. Scolding himself for being so stupid as to remove it, he picked it up and placed it around his neck. Turning the small cupboard light on, he pulled the ring closer to his face, and read the inscription along the inside of the ring for what seemed like the millionth time.
"A place for everything, and everything in its place."
Unbeknownst to Ron and Hermione, Professor Dumbledore had given the ring to Harry just before the end of term. It was not a ring, but a portkey. Dumbledore had told him that, should his home come under attack, he was to use the password Dumbledore had taught him, and it would transport him directly to Hogwarts. The password was "prongs".
However, Dumbledore had told him that he was to use it for nothing short of a full blown Death Eater attack, and Harry had listened. He knew that if the Dursley's didn't let him out of the cupboard at the end of the summer to return to Hogwarts, someone would come for him. Until then, a small part of his brain told him that being locked in for the whole summer was the least he could suffer for getting Sirius killed. Harry desperately tried to ignore this voice. He was starting to feel as though he had his own personal Dementor, making him relive every horrible event in his life.
Harry lay down as much as was possible on the cramped bed, and stuffed his face into his musty pillow. Though he had had some horrible birthdays over the years, this definitely topped the list as the worst ever. The last thought Harry had as he drifted into a fitful sleep was the fact that he didn't know when Sirius' birthday had been.
***
Several hundred miles away, at number 12 Grimmauld Place, Ron Weasley was quietly eating his dinner. It was his best friend, Harry Potter's, birthday. Ron had sent him his present earlier that day, which had included a cake made by his mother, a golden snitch that Ron had seen at Quality Quidditch Supplies, and some fudge and other pastries that had been made by his older brothers, Fred and George, and his younger sister, Ginny. Ron had been sure to clearly mark which sweets had been made by the twins.
After helping his mother clean up the dishes, Ron had headed up to his room for bed, realizing how late it was. He'd been quite down since this summer, because of Sirius' death and the fact that he hadn't received a single letter from Harry yet. He knew that Harry was upset about Sirius, and he wanted to talk to his friend about it. Ron was quite upset, too - he'd grown very close to Sirius during last summer. However, he didn't want to say anything to upset Harry further. And if their first conversation last summer had been any indication, it probably wouldn't take much.
Yawning, Ron pulled on his pajamas and crawled into his bed. He curled into his pillow and was nearly asleep when he heard a sharp tap at his window. Stretching and cursing under his breath, he trudged out of bed and over to the window, opening it. Two birds flew in - Errol, the old feeble family owl, and his own owl, Pigwidgeon. The thing that registered first in his still-tired brain was that Errol was still weighed down by all Harry's presents. A spark of panic rose in Ron. Before he could turn and run down the stairs, he realized that Pig was hooting around his head frantically, looking quite panicked as well. Pig had been at Hermione's, hadn't he? Why did he look so upset?
Ron quickly pulled the note off of Pig's leg and opened the parchment. He read his other best friend's hasty note:
RON!!
The presents I sent with Pig for Harry just came back, and Pig looked quite harassed. As soon as it happened, I tried to telephone him at the Dursley's, but his uncle yelled and said that there had never been anyone there by that name, and if I tried to hurt his family, he'd call the police (muggle Aurors). Tell someone at the Order to go get him IMMEDIATELY.
Hermione.
Now certain that something was not right, Ron rushed down the stairs to show the letter to his parents.
Authors: KittyKaty (with conceptual assistance from her somewhat-annoying- but-still-cute, Harry-Potter-obsessed step brother, Noah).
Rating: PG
Summary: Harry is offered a wonderful gift, but a horrible choice - James, Lily, or Sirius? Post OotP (coughSPOILERScough).
Disclaimer: I'm not JKR?! What are you talking about - of course I am! *blinks* Oh, never mind...I own Liviana (no, not the same Liviana from "Everything you Know is Wrong"), not Harry, or Ron, or Hermione, or Sirius, or Dumbledore, or...you see where I'm going with this? Okay then...Oh, yeah, and the title & lyrics are from the song "Angel" by Sarah McLaughlan.
*~Chapter One~*
"...in the arms of an angel, fly away from here...
...you're in the arms of the angel, may you find some comfort there..."
~Sarah McLaughlan, Angel~
Harry Potter's 16th birthday was perhaps a dark and stormy night. Or perhaps it was a clear, sunny day. Either way to Harry, it didn't matter. This was because he really couldn't tell - for the first time in five years, he found himself locked in the small, dingy cupboard under the stairs. Despite the warning the Dursley's had received from Moody, Lupin, and the Weasleys at Kings Cross Station, they hadn't allowed 16-year- old Harry any contact to the outside world - wizarding or muggle. Upon arrival at number 4, Vernon Dursley had promptly thrown Harry into the small cupboard, and locked him in. As Harry had massaged his now-bruised arm, Vernon had yelled through the door that he would not put his family in danger just because some power-hungry freak had picked Harry as his next target. From what Harry could tell by eavesdropping through the cupboard door, Vernon had told any muggle who asked that Harry had finally been arrested and shipped off to the penitentiary.
Harry was only allowed out twice a day to use the washroom (with the blinds closed, of course, so no one would spot "the boy"), and every evening Aunt Petunia's bony hand shoved a pitiful meal in through the door - water and stale bread, water and old soup, or whatever was lying around in the back of the fridge that didn't really smell quite right. As in his second year, Harry was forced to share a part of his meal with Hedwig, who was also locked in the cupboard with him.
Harry sighed. The only thing he could do while locked in his small cupboard was dwell on the fact that, were it not for his superiority complex, he would never have rushed to the Department of Mysteries, and Sirius would still be alive. He had once again cost someone close to him their life. He closed his eyes, trying to block out these thoughts, but was only haunted by images of Sirius, Cedric, James and Lily. He had single-handedly managed to get them all killed, all because of some stupid prophecy he didn't even know about.
A small part of his mind, the selfish part that sounded suspiciously like Draco Malfoy, told Harry that it wasn't his fault. Dumbledore was to blame. Dumbledore should have forced himself into the role of the Potter's Secret Keeper. He should have realized that Mad Eye Moody was really Barty Crouch Jr. And he most certainly should have told Harry about the prophecy, and why it was so imperative that he study Occlumency to the best of his abilities.
But Harry dismissed these thoughts as quickly as they had come. Dumbledore wasn't God, and he couldn't predict the future. He had always made every choice in Harry's best interests, and had never intentionally put him or his loved ones in harm's way. Harry knew that making excuses for his mistakes was pointless, because it would never bring them back. It would never bring Sirius back. Harry angrily wiped the fast-forming tears out of his eyes. What right did he have to cry over them? It was his fault they were dead.
Harry heard the telephone ring quietly out in the sitting room. Not that it really mattered to him who it was, but it gave him something to listen to. He pressed his ear to the door as someone picked up the phone. He pulled it back quickly, though, when he heard the unintelligible outraged shouts of his uncle. Maybe that wasn't the something he wanted to listen to, he told himself.
In an attempt to distract himself, Harry let his eyes wander over the contents of the cramped cupboard. The advantage to being locked in the cupboard under the stairs (if there was such a thing) was that not only did it house himself and Hedwig, but also all of his school things. Of course, this also made for even less room then there had been to begin with. Harry had successfully managed to get anything major, such as his trunk and his Firebolt, underneath of the small bed. However, Hedwig's cage sat at the end of the bed, because there was no room for it anywhere else. This made sleeping quite difficult.
Glancing around, Harry spotted a small gold ring on a chain perched on the shelf at the head of his bed. Scolding himself for being so stupid as to remove it, he picked it up and placed it around his neck. Turning the small cupboard light on, he pulled the ring closer to his face, and read the inscription along the inside of the ring for what seemed like the millionth time.
"A place for everything, and everything in its place."
Unbeknownst to Ron and Hermione, Professor Dumbledore had given the ring to Harry just before the end of term. It was not a ring, but a portkey. Dumbledore had told him that, should his home come under attack, he was to use the password Dumbledore had taught him, and it would transport him directly to Hogwarts. The password was "prongs".
However, Dumbledore had told him that he was to use it for nothing short of a full blown Death Eater attack, and Harry had listened. He knew that if the Dursley's didn't let him out of the cupboard at the end of the summer to return to Hogwarts, someone would come for him. Until then, a small part of his brain told him that being locked in for the whole summer was the least he could suffer for getting Sirius killed. Harry desperately tried to ignore this voice. He was starting to feel as though he had his own personal Dementor, making him relive every horrible event in his life.
Harry lay down as much as was possible on the cramped bed, and stuffed his face into his musty pillow. Though he had had some horrible birthdays over the years, this definitely topped the list as the worst ever. The last thought Harry had as he drifted into a fitful sleep was the fact that he didn't know when Sirius' birthday had been.
***
Several hundred miles away, at number 12 Grimmauld Place, Ron Weasley was quietly eating his dinner. It was his best friend, Harry Potter's, birthday. Ron had sent him his present earlier that day, which had included a cake made by his mother, a golden snitch that Ron had seen at Quality Quidditch Supplies, and some fudge and other pastries that had been made by his older brothers, Fred and George, and his younger sister, Ginny. Ron had been sure to clearly mark which sweets had been made by the twins.
After helping his mother clean up the dishes, Ron had headed up to his room for bed, realizing how late it was. He'd been quite down since this summer, because of Sirius' death and the fact that he hadn't received a single letter from Harry yet. He knew that Harry was upset about Sirius, and he wanted to talk to his friend about it. Ron was quite upset, too - he'd grown very close to Sirius during last summer. However, he didn't want to say anything to upset Harry further. And if their first conversation last summer had been any indication, it probably wouldn't take much.
Yawning, Ron pulled on his pajamas and crawled into his bed. He curled into his pillow and was nearly asleep when he heard a sharp tap at his window. Stretching and cursing under his breath, he trudged out of bed and over to the window, opening it. Two birds flew in - Errol, the old feeble family owl, and his own owl, Pigwidgeon. The thing that registered first in his still-tired brain was that Errol was still weighed down by all Harry's presents. A spark of panic rose in Ron. Before he could turn and run down the stairs, he realized that Pig was hooting around his head frantically, looking quite panicked as well. Pig had been at Hermione's, hadn't he? Why did he look so upset?
Ron quickly pulled the note off of Pig's leg and opened the parchment. He read his other best friend's hasty note:
RON!!
The presents I sent with Pig for Harry just came back, and Pig looked quite harassed. As soon as it happened, I tried to telephone him at the Dursley's, but his uncle yelled and said that there had never been anyone there by that name, and if I tried to hurt his family, he'd call the police (muggle Aurors). Tell someone at the Order to go get him IMMEDIATELY.
Hermione.
Now certain that something was not right, Ron rushed down the stairs to show the letter to his parents.