Disclaimer: See Chapter One.
Harry Potter and the Spirits Within
by Gates
Chapter Three: How Did We Get Here?
She wasn't looking at herself. Not really. She just stared into the reflective surface of the vanity mirror repeatedly brushing her dusky blond hair. It was shorter than it was the last time he'd seen it; stopping just above the crook where her shoulder met her slender neck. She wondered if he liked it.
Stop it! She told herself. It didn't matter whether or not he liked it. It didn't matter whether or not he'd even noticed. He hadn't so much as looked at her once in the four weeks she'd been at the school. Good, she told herself. He'll stick to his business and I'll stick to mine. We're at war. There are more important things to worry about than Sirius Black.
So why can't I stop thinking about him.
She rested her brush in her lap. She had to stop this. She'd spent too many years… She had to stop this.
"You look lovely, dear," the mirror spoke, drawing her out of her revelry.
Arabella smiled. "I doubt anyone will care."
"Oh, I think he will."
"He who?"
"He, whomever it is you're mooning over. I'm almost four hundred years old dear. I know that look. So who is it?"
She stood up. "I'm afraid you're mistaken. There's no one."
She picked up her deep red robes and her wand (mahogany, eight inches) and headed for the door.
"Where are you going dear? It's late!"
"For a walk." Away from you, she thought. Know-it-all talking mirrors. One of the few things she hadn't missed about the wizarding world.
*~*~*~*~*
Several minutes later, Arabella found herself wandering around the edge of the lake. More specifically, a little nook where several large smooth boulders formed a cozy quiet place, out of the direct view of everyplace else. It was place she knew well. She and Sirius had spent many a warm evening snogging in the soft grass or talking about their futures. The memory brought a smile to her lips, despite her general feeling of melancholia.
She sat down in the little nook and leaned against one of the smooth stones. Sighing, she resigned herself to the fact that her mind wanted to think about Sirius Black. About the good times, about the friendships with the Marauders and Lilly. That short time after graduation when the whole world seemed perfect… war or no war. But the good memories, no matter how intense, always led back to… the others…
*~*~*~*~*
"He's going to hurt you."
"What?"
"End it. End your relationship with this boy. He will cause you heartache like you will never know."
Ara, (as her close friends called her, so as not to confuse her with her mother), dropped her hands into her lap. Her mother had insisted that she come home for the Christmas Holidays that year, her last at Hogwarts. She had just opened her present from Sirius: a gold necklace with a carved pendant of a large raven with its wings rapped around a lion. The symbol of their two houses intertwined, as they had become in recent months.
She loved him. There was no doubt in her heart about that. She was in love with Sirius Black. And for all his joking and wild ways, she was certain that he loved her too.
And now her mother wanted her to break up with him?
"Mum, what are you talking about? Sirius would never hurt me."
"He will. I have foreseen it."
Ara angrily rose to her feet. "Mother! I told you! I told you I don't want you scrying into my life! My future is my business! You have no right…"
"It was not your future that came to me. It was the future of another. This boy's path has crossed into it. It was here I saw that he will cause you pain."
She shook her head. "No. You're wrong. YOU'RE WRONG! You've been wrong before and you're wrong now!"
"In the past, intervening factors have altered the outcomes. It is why I am intervening now. You are my life and I love you. I don't want to see you hurt. If you stay with this boy your world will end. I will loose you. You will loose yourself. You will suffer…"
"So that's it! You're afraid Sirius is going to take me away from you? That I'll run away with him? Mother, Sirius isn't like that. And even if he were, I am not! You have to trust me--"
"I do trust you! This is not about trust! This is about you! I don't want to see you hurt!"
"Well, you're hurting me now mother so I suggest you close your eyes!"
With that the younger witch stormed away to her bedroom locking and charming the door behind her.
"He'll never hurt me," she muttered to herself. "Never."
*~*~*~*~*
Arabella picked up a small stone from the base of the bolder. She skimmed it sideways across the lake's surface, which was only a few feet away. It touched three times before sinking into the mysterious depths. She'd done better. James had taught her better. It was only after several years that she discovered it was Lily who had taught it to him. Something her father had taught her when she was a little girl.
She briefly wondered if Harry knew how to skim rocks. It wasn't a common wizarding activity. And she doubted that those so-called 'relatives' of his would have taken the time to show him. She set it in her mind that when she found the time, she would pass on what his parents had shown her. The boy had so little of them. She was sure he'd want to learn.
She owed them that much.
An Auror. Not only an Auror, but a detector… a lay-gift of her mother's seeing talent. The future, she couldn't see. The present… things that were happening elsewhere at that very moment… that was her special talent.
So why couldn't she have seen the truth?
Why couldn't she have seen what was happening, right under her nose…
*~*~*~*~*~*
"Ms. Figg…"
"I'm trying! I'm trying!"
"You've been trying for forty minutes."
"Shut it, Allen! You're not helping!"
Ara closed her eyes and rubbed her temples with her fingers. She exhaled deeply and tried to concentrate, tried to ignore her fellow Aurors who were waiting for her to do what she did best.
"Why is this taking so long? She's never taken this long!" Gavin Peters whined.
"You know it's always more difficult for a detector to pick up on someone that they know. Emotions cloud the sight.
"And maybe she just doesn't want to find him."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Arabella demanded. She had dropped her arms and was staring daggers at Jason Allen. He'd always been on her case about every little thing, since the day she'd been accepted into the Auror ranks. She'd been accepted straight out of Hogwarts. He had to apply three times before he was allowed to train. She did not need his attitude today.
She'd been woken up in the middle of the night to find that two of her closest friends had been murdered. The fact that Voldemort was rumoured to be dead was of little comfort to her at the moment.
"What that means is maybe we ought to have an Auror who isn't screwing the suspect, work on this!"
Arabella clenched her fists and spoke with a forced calm through gritted teeth. "I am perfectly able to separate my relationship with Sirius Black and my work. And let me remind you that we are only bringing him in to hear his side of this. He is not a suspect."
"Please! Dumbledore has already told us that Sirius was the Secret Keeper. You're boyfriend gave them up to his master. He was Voldemort's right hand I bet!"
Ara raised her arm, ready to slug her co-worker. Kevin Mitchell, their superior, grabbed her before she could follow through.
"Allen, you're out of line. Figg, try again."
She threw him one more seething glare before closing her eyes again. This time she managed to tune out Allen's grumbling.
Her mind reached, and reached, and reached, for the presence that had become so familiar to her. Mitchell was right. Her feelings for Sirius and the Potters were getting in the way. She reached and reached, and…
She could see a street… muggles were all around.
Where is he? Where…? There he is!
Sirius was looking around the street and along the ground. Searching for something. Her 'astral' self was standing not to far away from the man. Only a few metres. She looked around. The building marker said: Glover's Street.
She was about to report her findings to her comrades when she spotted another familiar figure.
Peter Petigrew was across the crowded street. He was approaching Sirius (unbeknownst to the man) with unusual attentiveness on his face.
Sirius must have sensed that someone was approaching. He became very still.
"YOU KILLED JAMES AND LILY!!!"
The scene before her began to move very slowly. Sirius spun around withdrawing his wand as he turned. He pointed his wand at Peter… at his friend…He spoke some words, but from the rushing sound in her ears, Arabella couldn't hear them.
Then the world turned on its axis. The sound came later. The explosion was massive. With muggles standing as close as they were, there would no doubt be casualties.
As the rubble lay scattered… along with the bodies and parts of bodies… Peter was nowhere to be seen.
…And Sirius… Sirius blinked once. Then twice at the carnage in front of him. The side of his mouth began to tug upwards like it did before he flashed her his marvellous grin… He chuckled. And again. And he began to laugh in all earnest.
Arabella felt herself being shaken. She blinked several times and she was back inside herself, Mitchell shaking her by her upper arms.
"Figg! We have to go. Black has just—l"
"I saw--- He killed those people--- I saw---" Arabella was in a haze, both from coming out of a seeing, and from what it was she had seen.
"We have to go. Take a minute to collect yourself then join us."
"You're leaving her?"
"Allen, shut up! Take Peters and go! Figg, do you understand? We don't need you splinching yourself."
"I understand, sir," she said, focussing on looking him in the eye.
Mitchell nodded then stepped back and disapparated.
Arabella closed her eyes.
This can't be. This just can't be… I… I have to see it…
She took a cleansing breath then apparated to Glover's Street.
It was like being tossed back into a nightmare you had just woken up from. People were screaming and crying. Most of the muggles had no idea what had happened. The Department of Mind and Memory were already working on those that were close enough to have seen the event. And her team… they were taking Sirius into custody.
He continued to laugh as his wand (now lying at his feet) was confiscated. He laughed as they placed security bonds on his arms. He was laughing so hard it looked painful…
…And then he looked up and his eyes met hers.
The laughter stopped.
Mitchell and Peters group-disparated him away.
*~*~*~*~*
She couldn't read his eyes, she remembered. Since the first time they'd danced, she'd always been able to read his eyes. But that day… they seemed dead. And she'd attributed it to his guilt.
Her mother had been right. The pain she had felt in her heart at that moment and the days following, was unlike any she had felt before or since.
Her mother was right. And she hated her for it.
She stopped speaking to the woman from that day forward.
She hated her for being right.
She hated Sirius for breaking her heart.
She hated the entire world…
But he had been innocent all along…
So what did that mean now?
Arabella hugged her legs to herself and rested her head on her knees.
And for the first time in fourteen years… she cried.
*~*~*~*~*
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.
Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large moustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbours. The Dursleys had a son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.
The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. Their greatest wish was that it would just go away…
Two weeks ago it did.
And they've regretted it ever since.
Vernon Dursley leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He wondered if they would 'remember' to feed them tonight?
"Checkmate!"
"No, Dudley dearest. Remember, the knight cannot move that way."
"But I want it to!"
"Duddikins, those are the rules."
"Well, I don't like these rules! I should be able to move the way that I want! I don't want to play this stupid game anymore. I want to play checkers!"
"But dearest, we don't have the right board."
"I don't care!"
"There now," Vernon cut in. "Just pretend the white are red and the black stays as itself. No harm done."
"Alright then," Petunia agreed, re-arranging the pieces. "Would you like to go first sweetums?"
Dudley was already picking up the piece formerly known as 'rook'.
Vernon sighed and cast a glance around at his new companions.
He wondered briefly what was happening to his house.
Lousy freaks are probably robbing me blind, he told himself.
How he wanted to be sitting in his grand chair in his living room just then. Watching the evening news as Petunia put the last touches on a splendid meal.
Instead, he found himself in a 'cell' of sorts, sitting on a hard wooden chair, and wondering if he and his family would ever survive this mess.
It was all the boy's fault.
September 1st, he'd blanched at the yells of his son, Dudley…
*~*~*~*~*
"Dad! Dad! He's gone! Potter's gone!"
Vernon's whale-like son thundered down the stairs. "He's gone, Dad!"
It was noon. Petunia was serving up the tea when Dudley commented that Potter had been unusually quiet that morning. Vernon grunted and withdrew a door key from his vest pocket. He'd handed it to his son, telling him to go and discreetly peak in on the freak, to make sure that he wasn't 'up to something'.
Vernon looked up from his place at the kitchen table. "Wuh- What do you mean gone? He can't be gone. I locked him in there myself! Are the bars in place?"
Dudley nodded. Mr. Dursley had installed a set of thick bars over the window of the room Harry stayed in. They were fastened to the inside of the wall and went well past the windowpane; as to avoid a repeat of the break out the boy had managed during the summer before his second year.
"They're still there dad! The door was closed but it wasn't locked."
"Vernon!"
"Petunia, I tell you I locked that door!" Mr. Dursley protested. Pounding his beefy fist on the table. The lid of the teapot rattled nervously.
There was a creak from the hallway as Dudley opened the door to the cupboard under the stairs without restriction.
"This is unlocked too. His trunk is gone!"
The Mr. and Mrs. regarded each other with wide eyes. "Now you know that door was locked, my dear," Vernon said.
"He can't use… that stuff… away from school dad, Dudley continued, coming back into the kitchen. "How did he get these open?"
Petunia looked extremely worried. "Vernon, you don't think that… that… they, were here?"
Vernon stewed for a moment. "No. No, they couldn't have. Once they saw him they would have… No. He must have found some other way out."
Dudley seemed satisfied with that explanation and shoved three biscuits into his mouth. Petunia continued to wring her hands for a moment then shakily poured herself another cup of tea.
Despite his assurances to his family, Vernon could not rid himself of a growing feeling of dread. The doors and window were not the boy's only obstacles. When Mr. Dursley had locked the bedroom door the night before, the boy was… in no condition to travel. His left leg had been broken just above the knee, Vernon was sure of it. There was no way, that boy could have walked down the stairs and out of that house. And if by some strange means he found the strength to drag himself, he would have passed Vernon's bedroom. He would have heard him, he was certain of it.
So how had the boy gotten away?
The rest of the day was spent in silent torment. He refused to let his family worry themselves sick over the likes of Potter and so carried on happily as though all was right with the world. Monday came and went without incident as well. Dursley was beginning to feel better about the whole situation. Surely if something was going to happen, it would have happened already. The next day he would go to work, Dudley would start school and all would be right with the world.
He should have known something was amiss when he spent half the night in the toilet when it wasn't occupied by Petunia or Dudley.
The next morning, when he'd visited the loo four times before breakfast, he had begun to suspect that perhaps the boy had somehow poisoned them. And if it wasn't poison, the stress he had caused the family certainly had to be a contributing factor. He didn't have much time to contemplate the possibility though. Dudley, in full Smeltings dress had just seated himself at the table, Petunia forking a sausage onto his plate, when there was a lightening bright flash outside of their house. The three Dursleys simultaneously jumped. The next instant both front and back doors of the house blew off their hinges and ten (extremely angry looking) wizards marched into the Dursley home, wands at the ready.
The family instinctively backed into the closest corner they could find, Petunia, fighting a loosing battle to hide Dudley's ample girth behind her own willow thin body. Vernon huffed and collected himself. He would not show fear in front of these freaks. This was his home and he was having none of it.
"Vernon Dursley—" one of the wizards began.
"Now see here! Out! All of you! How dare you invade the homes of decent people? Get out! Get out now!"
"—Petunia Dursley," the wizard continued, ignoring Vernon's protests. "Dudley Dursley. You are all being taken into custody--"
"We're not going anywhere with the likes of you!"
"--by the Ministry of Magic, Department of Muggle Incarceration, under the charge of assault—"
"Now see here…"
"--with severe malice on an under-aged wizard, one Harold James Potter. Further charges may be added at a later time. You will surrender peacefully, or we will resort to using force."
Vernon picked a butcher's knife up from its block. His eyes narrowed angrily. He spoke with venom.
"You. Freaks… Are not taking me or my family… anywhere. Just turn yourselves around right now and march your filth out of my house. I'm sure the neighbours have already called the police, (Petunia gasped at the thought of the scandal.) and they should be on their way as we speak."
"Vernon Dursley, are you refusing to come peacefully?" the same wizard asked. Was Vernon mistaken or did he hear a hint of hope in the intruder's voice.
"We're bloody well staying right here!"
He knew he didn't imagine the side of the wizard's mouth pulling up into a wicked smile. He and the others raised their wands and Vernon had barely enough time to register Petunia's fear-filled scream, before there was another flash of light.
Then everything fell into darkness.
*~*~*~*~*
He awoke to find himself in his current surroundings. He was lying on a wide cot. Petunia was next to him shaking his arm and past her he could see Dudley beginning to sit up. Vernon did the same; dropping is feet over the side of his cot.
They were in a large circular enclosure. There were no bars, but a bluish tint around them indicated that they were definitely closed in. There was another circle that partially overlapped theirs. That circle had a red tint to it and the resulting eye-shaped over-lap was purple. The enclosure did not reach the ceiling and they could see that the room beyond the enclosure was white. There didn't appear to be any doors or windows anywhere.
The Dursley's were not alone. There were several other people with them in various stages of social dress. Men, woman and a couple of adolescent boys, were scattered about the large space. Some sleeping on similar cots, some reading in chairs. Others were playing chess or cards on heavy looking wooden tables.
Near to their three cots, the Dursley's appeared to have their own square wooden table (the top designed like a chess board) with three wooden chairs. There was a small box on the side, which looked like it might hold game pieces.
Some of the other people looked like folks the Dursleys would never associate themselves with. They were dressed poorly, in tattered clothes and had a crudeness about them. Others looked to be of good station, dressed nicely… proper and decent. Some looked as though they had money. None of them, not even the riffraff, looked like those freaks who had invaded his home.
"There we are. We were all beginning to wonder if you all would wake up at all. They must have hit you pretty hard."
A middle-aged man in a neat sweater-vest and Dockers approached them. Two other men similarly dressed and a woman approached them. The first man extended his hand.
"Niles Webster."
Vernon shook his hand hesitantly. He introduced his family and Niles introduced his companions.
"Don't worry Dursley. We're none of us those kinds of people. All muggles here."
"Muggles… but—but that's one of their words… Where is this place? What's going on here?"
"Yer in prison, mate," came a loud voice from across the room. A man dressed in oil stained jeans and a t-shirt approached with accompanied by the man he'd been talking to. It seemed as though most of the people in the room were looking at them now, interested in the newcomers who had finally regained consciousness.
"Prison? What on earth for?" Petunia asked.
"Ya committed a crime against one 'a them. That's what's for," the man replied.
"We've committed no crime!" Vernon insisted.
"Don't matter," the man said. "They think you did. That's enough for 'em t'drag ya in here. Kelly's the name by the way."
Vernon merely stared at the outstretched hand. After a moment, Kelly withdrew it.
"Now Dursley. We're all on the same side here. Us against them, really," one of Niles' companions (Fredrick) said. "We need to stick together."
"So you mean to tell me that we are all in here because they think we've committed a crime against them? What gives them the right?!"
"They take the right, mate."
"That's outrageous! Where's the guard? I want to make my call!"
There was a scattering of mild chuckles.
"There's no call, Dursley. They come and get us when they feel like it."
"Well, we have to be arraigned" Petunia said.
"No arraignment," Niles continued sitting down in one of the chairs.
"No bail. No bond. No juvenile court. Consider yerself lucky if ya get a trial," Kelly added. "They don't have to give one ya know."
The Dursleys looked appalled. Niles, Kelly and the others spent the better part of an hour (interrupted only by the Dursleys frequent need to use the facilities… which turned out to be the purple eye-shaped area, that became solid when occupied) explaining the workings of the wizarding legal system… if it could be called a system. Nile and his crew had learned most of their information from the people in the red enclosure. Those were muggles who'd already had their trial and were either waiting for sentencing or to be transported to Ixionar: the prison for muggles who commit crimes against wizards. Kelly… his knowledge came from previous experience.
They learned that they had been brought in over a week earlier. Their comrades commented that they must have done something serious for the freaks to have stunned them that hard.
Despite their outrage at the situation, the Dursleys began to feel an unusual… camaraderie with these people. Even those whom they would normally consider somewhat beneath them.
Four fourteen years, the Dursleys had suffered in silence. Unable to share their pain and their shame at having any association with that abnormal world. They'd had no one to complain to, or to fret with.
These people understood and recognized those freaks for what they were.
They'd heard the tales of how Niles had grown angry at when his sister's husband had shown up at his home, drunk and unannounced, a half hour before important guests were due. The man refused to leave and so Niles had bodily thrown him out. If the freak hadn't been so drunk in the first place, he would've been able to prevent his head cracking on the pavement. Apparently, six weeks later, he was still in a coma. There were some things even magic couldn't fix. Kelly's 'friend' Mathew made no bones about his situation. His wife of three months had one day up and told him that he was a witch. So he knocked her out and set her on fire. ("Suffer not a witch to live. Says it right there in the bible!" he said.) The Dursley's briefly explained about Petunia's sister and how they'd been burdened with the whelp ever since.
"Wasn't even going to take him in that morning," Vernon explained. "Was going to drop him off a the orphanage, but our neighbour, the widow Figg, she happened by as we were picking up the bundle. Pointed out how good and kind and magnanimous we were for taking in the foundling. Said she was going to tell the whole of the neighbourhood about our generosity. 'Course, we couldn't be rid of 'im then, now could we?"
There were nods of agreement and 'tuts' of sympathy for their situation.
"If they didn't want us disciplining the boy, they should not've dropped him with us in the first place. What were we to do? Let him run wild? After what he did! No! Got what he deserved, I dare say."
"Here, here!" Amanda (Niles' friend) agreed "Hope you put it to him good, for all the trouble he's causing you now."
"Good and well," Petunia agreed, always happy to be the centre of attention, especially when sympathy was thrown her way. "We're still surprised the boy managed to get out of the house! They must have helped him, the sneaks."
"What's this leech's name by the by? Maybe it's in the papers. They give us one per week," commented Niles.
"Er… Potter," Vernon said. "Harry Potter."
He was more than a little surprised when the majority of the friendly faces suddenly looked shocked and horrid.
"Harry… Harry Potter?" Niles asked. Vernon nodded. "A scar on his forehead, looks like a lightening bolt?"
"Yes," Dudley said, speaking up for the first time. "It's right here." The boy indicated on his own forehead. "Have you seen him?"
"You beat Harry Potter?!" exclaimed a woman who had not been in the close circle of the discussion group. "Are you mad? Are you trying to get us all killed?"
"What are you talking about?" Petunia demanded. She didn't like this woman's tone, nor the sudden change of atmosphere in the cell.
"Is he alive? Did you kill him? Was he breathing when you last saw him?"
"Madame, I do believe that is none of your business."
"It bloody well is my business! It's all our business when you go and do something that could very well send us to our graves!"
"Dursley," Niles cut in. "I dislike wizards as much as the next man, but Harry Potter…? Surely you must have known better?"
"What in blazes are you all on about?" Mathew piped before Vernon had a chance to.
Many that had been sitting in the close group around the Dursleys, began to move off towards their own sections.
"What's so special about Harry?" Dudley asked. He was met with wide-eyed stares.
"You… you don't know about Potter? About Voldemort?"
"Voldemort? I… think I've heard the word, but I can't place it just now," Vernon told him.
"You don't know about your own nephew?"
"I wanted to know as little about that boy as possible. Why would I ask him anything?"
"To defeat your enemy you must first know your enemy," Kelly said. "Let me enlighten you."
The rough man explained the story of Voldemort and of Harry's defeat of the evil wizard. Harry was the saviour of the wizarding world and to that day, he was still revered. The woman who had accosted the Dursleys explained the reason for her anger. She had heard rumours, through her brother, a wizard, and his company, that Voldemort had returned. She explained that the reason for the sudden change in attitude was that, Voldemort hated all muggles. If he were to come to power, all muggles would be tortured, made into slaves or killed. They all hated wizards as much as the Dursleys, but if Voldemort had truly returned, then the only thing standing between him and them was Harry Potter.
"You'd better prey, that boy lives," she added. "If he's dead, they're liable to send you to Azkaban."
"Don't be stupid Amy. Muggles are never sent to Azkaban. We'd be dead inside an hour."
"With how they feel about Potter," she told Kelly, "they wouldn't care. Me, I don't care what happens to the lot of you, either way. Just don't put our necks on the block with you." With that, the angry woman returned to her own cot.
*~*~*~*~*
And that's how it was. The other prisoners gave the Dursley a wide berth. They didn't want to associate themselves with them, lest they bring the anger of the wizarding world down on their own heads. They were worried that being friendly towards the family would bring harsher verdicts in their own trial. Even Niles, while still polite, kept his general distance. The only one who didn't bother one way or the other was Mr. Kelly, who didn't much give a damn what the wizarding freaks thought about him.
*~*~*~*~*
Later that first day, an invisible bell rang out six chimes. All those seated at tables rose and stood by their cots. The Dursleys wisely thought to follow suit. As the sixth echo died away, the tables disappeared and a long table appeared in the centre of the room. The prisoners took their seats, leaving the three looping the end for the Dursley family. It went without saying that the only place Dudley could fit would be at the head of the table. There was a place setting in front of each of them: a single plate, fork knife and to the Dursleys' disgust, a goblet rather than a proper glass. Dudley's eyes roved hungrily over the still table, then around at the walls of their container.
"When do they bring the food?" Dudley implored his father.
"Soon, son, soon," Vernon replied. He then leaned towards Kelly, who was at his right. "I take it the food is safe?"
"That it is. Though you're not gonna like the way it gets here."
"What do you…"
Vernon looked up. Three wizards had suddenly appeared on the outside of the barrier. Vernon turned around and saw that two wizards and a witch had appeared on in the same position beyond the barrier at his back. None of the other prisoners seemed to be feathered by this and continued to talk amongst themselves.
There was a loud crack, which caused Dudley to jump and almost loose his balance (sitting on a chair he so overflowed). A moment later the sparse plates and goblets were filled with food and drink… all except three. The Dursleys' plates remained bare. (Although water appeared in their cups.)
Dudley's mouth dropped open, his eyes pitifully wide.
"What… What's going on here?" Vernon demanded.
"Oh! Sorry Dursley," said one of the wizards from the barrier in front of him. "I suppose the elves didn't know you were awake yet…"
"Elves?" Petunia squawked.
"Better luck tomorrow." The wizard finished. The six then disappeared.
"Tomorrow?!" Dudley cried. "Dad! Make them come back!"
Vernon screeched his chair back and began to stand. Kelly's hand on his arm stopped him.
"Wouldn't do that if I were you, mate. Less you want yer family t'go hungry tomorrow too."
Vernon sat back down. "But they just can't—"
"Get it through yer head, Dursley. They can do whatever they want. They are in charge here." He went back to his own plate and began to move his food around with his fork. "For now," he muttered under his breath.
"What was that?"
"Later, Dursley. Later. Drink yer water slow."
Petunia, meanwhile, was looking longingly at a roll on Franklin Dover's plate. Inch by inch she leaned closer towards it. Finally, Dover grew tired of the horse-faced woman breathing on him and with a roll of his eyes handed the bread over. No sooner had his fingers left the roll than the food on Dover's plate disappeared. The man gasped and grabbed the bread back from Petunia. Food re-appeared on Dover's plate, though in a smaller portion than before. He scowled at the woman then concentrated on what was left of his meal.
The Dursleys tried to enjoy their water.
*~*~*~*~*
"Dursley!" Kelly called from across the cell. He motioned with a nod of his head for the portly man to join him at his table. He was sitting next to a man who had been brought in the previous evening and had gone straight to sleep on the cot formerly occupied by Niles. Niles had been taken away two days earlier. No one knew for certain what had happened to the prestigious man. But seeing as he hadn't been placed in the 'red' cell, most guessed that he had bought his way out. The wizarding world, Vernon learned, was not entirely above such things. The fact that Niles' brother-in-law was not completely above the board in the wizarding community, either, would have made it easier for him to grease the wheels.
Vernon approached the table.
"This here's David Lirthe," he said. Vernon extended his hand which the man curtly shook. Lirthe was dressed all in black. Expensive black. His black hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail. His wore black wire-rimmed glasses… and the one word that ran though Dursley's head as he observed this tall, slight man was 'Dangerous'.
"So," Lirthe began, indicating the empty seat for Vernon. "You're the one who was saddled with the hero of the wizarding world?"
Vernon harrumphed. "Hero. Still can't believe that little good for nothing pain in the arse is so important to these freaks. Then again, only people like them would depend on an insect like that to save them."
"So how do you feel about the wizarding world in general?"
"Wouldn't mist an eye if they were all wiped off the face of the Earth," Dursley stated with conviction.
The side of Lirthe's mouth slowly curled into an acid chilling half-smile.
"Tell me, Dursley," he drolled, folding his hands on the small table. "Have you ever heard of an organization called P.A.W.S.?"
*~*~*~*~*
Harry was putting the finishing touches on his Potions essay that was due in twenty minutes. He was curled up in the crook under the stairs that led up to the boy's dormitory. He found it ironic that this was his chosen place of seclusion and comfort while in the Gryffindor common room. Those times when he needed to be alone to think, when he didn't feel like sneaking around the school in his cloak, Ron or Hermione could almost always find him there. After all the years he'd wished to get out from under the stairs, he found the most comfort there.
It was their free period after lunch and Hermione had wanted to do some research in the library. Ron, as was his usual as of late, tagged along. Harry opted to remain behind, saying that he'd see them in Potions later on.
Potions. Snape. Training.
It wasn't the horrifying experience he'd expected it to be.
*~*~*~*~*
Two nights after their first meeting, Harry returned to the Potions classroom. He was concealed in his invisibility cloak but opened the front to reveal his face. He raised his fist to the door but before he could knock, it flew open and a very stern looking Snape stood there staring down at the disembodied face.
"Follow me," he commanded. He stepped out into the hallway, charmed the door and stocked off without looking back to see if Harry was following him. (Not that he could see him, as Harry had replaced the invisibility cloak.) The young Gryffindor was led deeper into the dungeons than he had ever gone before. They twisted and tuned until they came to a simple looking black door. A charm was lifted and the two went inside.
It was an old classroom. Fewer desks than usual. Perhaps it had been used centuries ago when the Hogwarts population was significantly less. But Harry could still tell this had once been a Potions classroom. Shelves lined the walls missing their jars of Kelpie Hair and Beetle Eyes. There were circular marks on the desks where hot cauldrons had been rested. The ghost smell of heavy ingredients clipped the air.
"This is where you will come for our sessions," Snape said, locking and warding the door. Harry removed his cloak fully, folded it and placed it on a desk near a corner. Professor Snape meanwhile had taken to reclining against the teacher's desk, his arms folded expectantly.
"Well, Mr. Potter?"
"Sir?"
"Have you an answer to your question? Why else do I continue to use a wand?"
Harry sat down at one of the desks in the second row. "Er… well, the book said something about… wandless magic draining a wizard's 'core energy'? And if a wizard looses too much core energy, they can die."
A slight incline of the head was all Harry got to indicate that his answer was correct.
"And core energy? What is that?"
"The energy force residing within any and every current or former living being, whether magical or muggle, that is the initiating and maintaining force of existence."
"Word for word from the text, Mr. Potter. Do you know what it means?"
"Not a clue."
"At least you're being honest. For once."
Harry bit down on his tongue.
"Everything that lives or used to live, Mr. Potter, has it's own form of energy. Ours flows from a magical centre within us. That energy is what allows us to breath, to grow, to think. When that energy is too low to sustain us, we die.
"We tap into that pool when we perform magic. When we use our wands, they behave as a sort of… artificial source of core energy. Most everyday spells only use a small portion of our own core, usually no more than is required to breathe. The majority of the power comes from our wands. Are you with me so far, Mr. Potter?"
Harry nodded. "I think so… Sort of like… using a wand is like… taking power from a battery, but using power from ourselves is like using from the outlet?"
"A somewhat crude analogy, but yes. Wands could be considered similar to muggle batteries, in that sense. Only, their magical cores, in your case, the phoenix feather, never run out. The wood of a wand controls how that energy flows.
"Wands do have their limits, however, but the limits are proportional to the wizard behind it. The more powerful the spell, the more of our own core energy is siphoned. Also, when you are not accustomed to using a spell, more is used. We replenish this energy through rest and nourishment."
Harry knitted his brow. "Is that the reason why…" he began, "why we always have Charms and Transfiguration either right before, or right after a meal?"
"It appears that you do have a brain somewhere in that Gryffindor head of yours. You may make a passable tool after all."
"Excuse me?"
"A tool, Mr. Potter. You are the wizarding world's ultimate tool. A weapon. They use you when they need you and will discard you when you've outlived your usefulness. Do not delude yourself into thinking you are anything but."
Harry looked steadily up at his teacher before staring down at his hands.
Dumbledore, Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys… even Sirius and Professor Lupin; they all coddled Harry, treating him like a normal little boy. Harry knew was anything but, though he appreciated the effort for the most part. The Tri-Wizard Tournament had changed everything. He knew he had to give up the pre-tense of being just like everyone else, no matter how much he might wish it.
Voldemort was his responsibility. It was his job to destroy this monster. He knew it and despite what his friends might say, they must have known it as well. And when it was over…
Well, he'd already had examples enough of how fickle the wizarding world could be. He'd found himself ostracised two out of the previous four years he'd attended Hogwarts.
And when he wasn't needed anymore…
Harry groaned inwardly. He should have known that Snape would be the only one to confront him with the truth. The others were too afraid of hurting Harry's feelings or frightening him. They didn't want to imagine what might happen when Harry faced the Slytherin heir.
But the last thing he felt he needed was placating. And grudgingly, a small part of Harry was grateful that someone had been able to confirm his suspicions… even if it was Snape.
"Thanks."
Snape blinked. "What?" He obviously hadn't been expecting that as a response.
"I never deluded myself. I know what everyone expects of me… You're… just the first person with the brass to say it to my face. Should'a known it'd be you," he added in a mumble.
"Indeed," Snape doled. "And since you seem to have an understanding of where we now stand, we should begin… unless of course you have any further questions…" He raised an eyebrow.
Harry looked slightly uncomfortable. Snape sighed.
"Mr. Potter, if this training is to work, you and I, as much as we may loath it, are going to have to attain some level of trust and honestly. I can tell you have at least on question rattling around in your head… let me guess…
"It's obvious from his frequent little displays that Dumbledore is a purveyor of wandless magic. You wish to know why he is not training you instead of a 'greasy bastard'."
It was Harry's turn to raise an eyebrow.
"I assure you I am quite aware of most of the colourful monikers that have been bestowed on me."
"Erm…" Harry thought it best to ignore Snape's last comment. Instead he just nodded contritely to the former question.
"Dumbledore can perform wandless magic most expertly," Snape continued. "But, as powerful a wizard as he is, the headmaster is still human. A very, very old human. And while he engages in the odd jaunt, it's best he conserve his energies for a time when they become necessary. Given the conversation we've have just had, I shouldn't need to explain anymore on that subject."
Harry shook his head.
"Anything else?"
This time Harry tried not to hesitate.
"Just one more," he said. Snape merely nodded that he should continue and Harry was surprised at the level of patience his professor was showing. Usually, if you asked too many question, the Potions master would explode. He guessed that either Professor Dumbledore had spoken to him or he found this training too important to me meddled with. Probably both.
"My, um…" He refused to let himself blush or show any type of embarrassment at this. "Hermione found… well, she was looking up… malice… in the library. It talked about core energy and it almost being a curse and all that, but… well… what we couldn't figure out was… erm..."
"How a muggle such as your uncle was able to inflict malice?"
"I never said—"
"Oh, give us a little credit, Mr. Potter. No one ever believes that 'I fell' or 'I walked into a door' rubbish."
Harry shook his head dismissively. "Anyway… I thought muggles couldn't do any magic."
"Under most circumstances, no, Muggles cannot do magic. But in fact, there are two forms of magic that are so powerful that they transcends the narrow definitions of muggle or magic, human or beast, wand or wandless. You should be quite familiar with the first of these as from what I have heard, it was what originally saved you from Voldemort."
"Love."
"When muggles croon that love is magic, they don't know how close to the truth they really are. It surpasses all boundaries. Had your mother been muggle, her sacrifice still would have protected you."
Harry's eyes looked distant for a moment.
"Hate's the other one, isn't it?" he asked quietly. "It has to be."
"It is."
Harry looked at Snape directly. "Which is stronger?"
"It depends on the conviction of the caster," Snape told him. "Ultimately, no one knows."
"So… Vernon…"
Snape cleared his throat mildly. "Apparently, my assumption that you were being worshiped at home as in our world, was somewhat mistaken."
"Slightly."
*~*~*~*~*
Harry didn't have any further questions, at leas none that couldn't wait for another time. While Hermione was fascinated by analytical study, Harry preferred a more hands on approach to learning. He wanted to get started.
They spent the rest of the next two hours with Snape instructing him on how to feel his own core energy running through his body. Awareness of self was the first step.
*~*~*~*~*
Snape widened the isle in the centre of the room by pushing the desks together with a flick of his wand. He stood in front of Harry in the new space.
"Have you ever stood outside, Mr. Potter, on an extremely warm day, with your eyes closed and a strong sun beating down on you."
Harry nodded. Snape told him to close his eyes. Harry sighed. To do so would be breaking one of the three prime rules of Gryffindor house. When with Snape: i) Never eat or drink anything he gives you. ii) Never turn your back. iii) Never close your eyes. Deviation from any of these rules would surely lead to pain, suffering and death. But, it was for a good cause so Harry went ahead and closed his eyes.
"Recall the way the sun made you feel. Your blood, alive with the heat."
Harry tried to recall the feeling. It was cold in the dungeons, so imagining a hot summer's day was not exactly easy. After a few tried moments, it came to him. He remembered how the heat had moved from his chest, to his shoulders, then down his legs and arms and out to his fingertips and toes. It was a rushing sensation, he could hear it in his ears and feel it behind his eyes. It was almost like floating.
"Now take that memory and bring it to the present." He heard Snape say, from what sounded like a distance.
Harry concentrated. He began to feel the coldness of the dungeon again on his hands and face. But he was still very aware of the blood in his veins. It was a though he'd been running for a long time, but he was not out of breath. He concentrated harder. He could feel the warmth again beneath his cool skin. The rushing came back and Harry began to feel light headed. He held onto it for as long as he could, but dizziness came upon him and everything began to spin. Harry collapsed onto his hands and knees.
Panting, Harry opened his eyes again and looked around. Snape was standing on the other side of the room, a guarded expression on his face. Harry reached up to use the desk to help pull himself up. He yelped and quickly withdrew his hand. The desk felt as though it were on fire. Indeed there was a now a low red glow to the normally black surface. He looked around the room. The walls and other desks also, seemed to have the same heated red hue. Snape appeared to be the only thing unaffected.
"What… What happened?" he asked, finally getting to his feet.
Snape remained silent for a moment. He made no move to approach Harry.
"Yes…" he murmured. "A fine weapon."
*~*~*~*~*
Snape insisted on meeting with Harry every night since then. Apparently it was important that Harry learn to control his flow of magic right way. Waiting a day or two could prove disastrous.
He learned that it was his own core energy that had heated the room. Snape had wisely placed wards on the room beforehand so that nothing outside was damage. The Professor used his own wandless magic to protect himself. The sensation did not leave after Harry after the session. He felt charged and awake.
Snape must have known that would happen because he shoved a vile of Morphiasella Potion – a sleeping draught, not as powerful as Draught of Living Death, into his hand before sending him back to Gryffindor. After an hour of lying in bed, Harry was resigned to taking the potion. A second rule, broken.
However, he was awake, rested (and alive) for class the next morning. Surprisingly the electric feeling had returned.
By noon that day, it had given Harry an extremely bad headache. He found it difficult to concentrate on his afternoon classes.
That evening, Snape chastised Harry for not going to the school nurse with his headache. ("Stubborn Gryffindor pride.") He'd anticipated the headache and had dropped of an appropriate antidote, telling the mediwitch to expect the boy. He gave it to Harry then and the pain in his head was gone in seconds.
Snape forced Harry to repeat the 'rushing' exercise again. This time, however, it was for a shorter duration and the Professor told Harry to visualize the power coming back into himself. Shrinking away to a small ball in his chest. He repeated the exercise for the rest of the session and when he went to bed that night, he was able to sleep from weariness, rather than magical potion.
Harry was learning quickly and only needed to repeat the previous night's exercise twice, before Snape was apparently satisfied, and moved on to the next step: focus.
The magic, instead of pulling it into a little ball in his chest, was to be directed solely down his arms and out to his hands.
The mind was a powerful weapon, but too many things happened in there. It was better to focus the magic to a specific area of the body rather than let it run wild from the labyrinth of the mind. This was more difficult than Harry thought it would be and it wasn't until near the end of the session that he was able to first do it.
Surprisingly, Harry was finding Snape to be a… competent teacher. Well… alright, he was good. Harry, for the first time in five years, found himself actually learning from the man. Snape was even… tolerable during the sessions. He never actually praised Harry for doing anything right, but his snipes and sarcastic remarks had dwindled to a minimum, usually reserved for the times when Harry himself knew he had messed up.
Potions class was as miserable as ever and Harry found himself wondering if the slight difference in attitude was due to Snape preferring to teach one on one, or due to the lack of Slytherins. Perhaps both? Snape was definitely turning out to be a more complex man than the one who had maliciously punished Harry at every turn during his first year.
Harry looked at his watch.
Snape was also a man that would be that would be spitting fire if Harry were late for class. He gathered up his things and made a mad dash for the portrait.
*~*~*~*~*
It was Friday. 1:58pm – sharp. Potions began on Friday at 2:00pm – sharp.
Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil tore their way down into the bowls of the castle, their shoes clacking against the hard stones of the dungeons. Neither girl wanted to think about what their Potions master might do if they were late again.
"We're dead. We are so dead."
"Not yet," Parvati challenged her friend. "We can still make it."
"Doesn't matter," Lavender huffed. "He'll probably take 50 points each for breathing too hard in his class."
"If we're lucky. He'll probably--oof!"
Parvati lay sprawled out on the dungeon floor. She heard Lavender gasp. She pulled herself to her knees.
I'm alright," she said, pulling herself to her knees and turning to see what it was she had tripped over. Lavender herself was less concerned with her best friend and more focussed on the young body that was convulsing on the floor.
"Harry!"
"Oh, Merlin, what's wrong with him?"
Harry's arms were wrapped tightly around his torso. His teeth were gritted and his eyes were clenched shut. He was curled in a partial fetal position, but his body continued to spasm in pain. The young Gryffindor looked to be trying to fight off agony.
When Lavender shook him, Harry gave no response. He didn't seem to realize they were there.
"Go get help!" Parvati yelled. "Snape's closest!"
Lavender nodded without question and ran off down the hallway.
Parvati, at a loss to what else to do, rested her hand on Harry's head in as comforting a manor as she could manage.
"Help's coming, Harry. Hang on."
*~*~*~*~*
Severus Snape was busy mentally calculating the number of points he would be deducting from the three tardy Gryffindors.
It was 2pm sharp.
He closed the door and moved gracefully to the front of the classroom. He glanced down at Weasley and Granger then towards the empty seat normally occupied by Harry Potter. Harry would be cleaning cauldrons till morning.
He straightened to his full height. He opened his mouth and was about to hit the Gryffindors with one of his trademark stinging witticisms, when the door to the potions classroom flew open with such force that it cracked loudly against the wall behind it.
"MISS BROWN! What--"
"Harry!--You--He--He--"
"Miss Brown, do try to take some manner of control of yourself! Now what about Mr. Potter?"
Lavender took a deep breath.
"Harry's hurt. Just up the hall. We… we don't know what happened. We found him on the floor--"
Snape didn't bother listening to the rest of her breathless rant. He stormed past her and back the way she'd come. Seconds later, he heard Parvati yelling.
"Harry! Harry, please! ENVARATE!"
Snape turned the corner and came upon the frantic girl leaning over Harry with her wand out. She looked up when her teacher approached.
"Professor! He stopped breathing! I can't wake him up!"
Snape knelt down on one knee. After finding no pulse he waved his wand over Harry casting a strong recovery spell. Harry remained still.
"Respiro!"
Nothing. Harry was beginning to turn blue.
"We need to get him to the hospital wing," Snape muttered, standing.
"We need to get him breathing first!"
Snape turned. Miss Granger and the rest of the fifth year Potions students had crowded into the dim hallway behind him. He would have to deal with their impudence later.
"Simple magic isn't working, Miss Granger," he sneered.
"Then do it the muggle way. Ever heard of CPR?" She
shoved past him without waiting for his answer or answering Ron's: "What? See--Pee--What?".
Hermione knelt down beside Harry's head.
"S'cuse me. S'cuse me." Seamus made his way through the crowd and knelt down opposite Hermione at Harry's chest.
"I'll do the compressions," he commented as he folded his hands over Harry's heart. Hermione closed Harry's nose and sealed his mouth with her own. She breathed into him, his chest rising slightly. As she withdrew, Seamus began pushing forcefully on Harry's rib cage.
"One, two, three, four, breath!"
Hermione pushed another puff of air into Harry's lungs. They repeated those actions again and then twice more under the silent watchful eyes of their classmates and Professor Snape.
Hermione pushed another breath into Harry, but this time was met with resistance.
Harry made an 'urk' sound and began coughing animatedly. He stopped after a few moments, breathing deep gasping breaths. He wasn't the only one to gasp. Several of the young witches and wizards who had the honour of calling themselves 'pure-bloods', were shocked beyond belief. Seamus and Hermione had gotten Harry to breathe again… without magic.
The two Gryffindor's had little time to enjoy their laurels as their patient was now making painful sounding groans. His eyes were flickering sporadically as though he were trying to pull himself out of a bad dream.
Snape had already conjured a stretcher and now levitated Harry onto it. "Mr. Weasley, fetch Professor Dumbledore and the Head of your house. Mr. Finnigan, Miss Granger, you're with me. You'll need to explain what you did to Potter. The rest of you," he glared at the class, "return to the classroom and begin preparing the ingredients for the Falconus Potion on page 35 of your text. If I find there has been any disruption of any kind, the entire class—both houses, will have detention for the next month! Miss Brown, Miss Patel, You'd best come along too.
"Now move!"
The entire Potions class jumped. Those who hadn't been named quickly filed back towards the Potions classroom. Ron took off in search of the school heads as the remaining four able-bodied Gryffindors began to follow Snape and the prone Harry up to the hospital wing.
"Pro—Professor---?" came a weak voice.
"Don't talk Potter."
Harry wearily shook his head and reached out, lightly grabbing the sleeve of his robes.
"N—No… Kar—Karkaroff…"
Snape (and the others) stopped their procession. "What?" he asked, looking down at the boy.
Harry looked up at his teacher with blurry (Hermione had his glasses), and tired eyes. Snape could see the boy was about to slip back into unconsciousness.
"Karkaroff…" Harry breathed, "V-Voldemort… has… Karkaroff…"
To be continued…
*~*~*~*~*
A/N:
The first two paragraphs and the first sentence of the third paragraph of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (minus one word), were included in this chapter and belong to J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury Publishing; not me.
This story is definitely a WORK IN PROCESS. It's reeeeaally developing itself and becoming very rich in my head, if I may say so. I am constantly thinking of things that I wish to add or explanations for other things. As such it takes time to decide what to leave in and what to leave out and where to put it all. I really think (hope) you'll be pleased with the results so hang in there. The training scenes with Harry were the main reason for this long delay. It's still kinda choppier than I would like, but for now it'll have to do. This was more of an info chapter. Interesting things coming up.
A couple of people have asked if the relationship between Harry and Severus is going to become slash. Well….
Sorry. Not in this fic.
Buuuuut, I do have another fic, as yet untitled, which is HP/SS NC-17, super slash, mega smut, pillow fluffed, with a little darkness and BDSM thrown in, that I will be posting in a while. It's kinda long and I'm trying to do it as a one shot. I've been writing fan fiction since 1998 and it's my first slash piece ever, so bear with me. :)
I've also just started another Harry/Snape slash that is actually a story and not simply smut, so that one will take a little longer to come out.
As for what happened on that mysterious August 31st? No, Harry was not sexually abused. You will find out what happened (cause I've already written it) but I haven't decided which chapter to put it into yet (but it may be the 4th). It has to flow right and be the right time.
Draco… I'm still sorting him out a bit. He will make his presence known as always, though.
Lirthe (pronounced: LER – like her and TH – like thou)… unscramble his name for a clue as to what he and P.A.W.S. are all about. (Ain't I wicked?)
P.A.W.S. – the idea of this came to me while watching "Married With Children" (which has the *NO MA'AM* organization: Men Against Amazonian Masterhood), and the X-Men comic books (back when it was good). It's going to be a major plot point (if this works out)… later on… Can anyone guess what the letters stand for?! :)
How did Sebastian get into the Hospital Wing? Snakes can climb walls (I've seen it) and stairs and pipes as we saw in CoS.
Why the students chosen for the OoP were all Gryffindors… This time around they were yes, but this has not been an exclusive thing. (My) Arabella Figg was a Ravenclaw. But this year the seven Gryffindors are in the spotlight. Mostly this is because I think I know them better than other students but also… all in the Order may not be what it seems… That's all I'm going to say about that for now. Stay tuned.
Now click that little "Review" button down on the left.
;P