Harry Potter - Vengeance and Wrath: The Rise of the Dark Lord
Disclaimer - Harry Potter is a trademark of J.K Rowling and Warner Bros..
The title, 'Vengeance and Wrath: The Rise of the Dark Lord', the banner, Belching Bonbons, and the characters of Holly Plumpton-Black and Amber, Selwyn and Lavinia Moore belong to the authors, and cannot be reproduced in any way without their consent.
All people and events in this story are entirely fictional. Any resemblence to any person and/or event is purely coincidental.
-CHAPTER ONE-
The First Summer Of The Second War.
Harry Potter sat motionless in the ancient rocking chair, staring attentively at the old T.V set as the opening notes of music announced the start of the seven o'clock news.
"Tonight: More strange disappearances cause police to question whether a serial killer is to blame (dong); The plague strikes again as four more victims are found dead (dong); Plane ticket prices have risen by 25 as thousands of Britons flee the country, trying to escape the deadly epidemic.."
'That definitely sounds like You-Know-Who's work to me.' Mrs. Figg sighed, handing Harry a stale biscuit.
Harry dragged his eyes away from the T.V screen and turned to face the elderly woman. He still hadn't quite got over last year's revelation that his batty old cat-loving neighbour was, in fact, a Squib, and knew all about the wizarding world.
'How long do you think it will take the Muggles to figure out what's really happening?' Harry questioned anxiously.
'Well, they never figured out what was happening the first time round, so there's really no need to worry about it this time.' Mrs. Figg stated calmly.
Harry took a bite from his biscuit. Clearly Mrs. Figg had a point. The Muggles were stupid enough to believe that the numerous deaths were, in fact, due to a plague that had no apparent symptoms.
Still, he couldn't quite forget the time that he had gone to the Quidditch World Cup, some two years ago now. The Muggle campsite owner had been very suspicious of all the wizards that were congregating there. In fact, the poor man had had to have his memory modified on several occasions. It had taken quite a powerful charm to make him forget that Death Eaters had tortured his whole family - he'd still been confused when Harry had left. Surely the Ministry for Magic wouldn't allow for every Muggle in Britain to have their memory modified? And what about when the rest of the world found out about Voldemort? Would all those people have their memories modified too?
Mrs. Figg must have noticed the perturbed look on Harry's face.
'Muggles wouldn't believe in magic if you conjured up a tap-dancing elephant in front of their very eyes. They'd probably just say it was a trick of the light or something.' Mrs. Figg paused, smiling at her own joke. 'Yes, always looking for a "reasonable explanation" those Muggles.'
Harry swallowed the remainder of his biscuit. He really hoped that Mrs. Figg was right.
The short stroll from Wisteria Walk back to Privet Drive was enough to put Harry's mind at ease. If the rest of Britain were anything like the occupants of Little Whinging, then the secret of the Wizarding world would be safe for a long time.
Harry couldn't help but smile as he walked past house after house with shutters over the windows and red crosses painted on the doors. Some had even hung garlic up at their windows, to protect them from the deadly "plague" that was sweeping the nation.
The first summer of the second war had certainly been eventful. Harry had been following Lord Voldemort's rise to power since the beginning of the holidays. Keeping in touch with members of the Order of the Phoenix and reading the Daily Prophet, Harry had been able to keep track of everything that was happening in the Wizarding world, and by watching the seven o'clock news every night at Mrs. Figg's house, he knew how Voldemort's second attempt at domination was affecting the Muggles.
It had been somewhat inconspicuous at first - a death here, a disappearance there. The Muggles didn't really seem to notice - those were things that happened all the time in their world. But after ten seemingly healthy people drop dead with no apparent cause, then people start asking questions. That's when newspapers started leaking reports of a plague. Naturally, everyone panicked; supermarkets were raided, people quit their jobs and boarded up their houses. Other citizens fled the country as Voldemort grew stronger and began killing more and more people who stood in his way.
Harry slowly walked up the garden path of Number 4 Privet Drive, delaying the inevitable for as long as he possibly could. True, the Dursleys hadn't been as bad as usual this year (which was probably something to do with the talk they'd had with members of the Order when Harry had returned from Hogwarts last month.) but all they talked about nowadays was the "plague", even though Harry had tried to tell them again and again that it was Voldemort and there was no epidemic. Aunt Petunia had been the first person to race to the nearest supermarket and stock up on food, afraid that her precious Dudley would starve. Harry suppressed a giggle. Even if there was a plague, it wasn't very likely that his cousin would starve - he was already the size of a small hippopotamus.
Harry opened the door of his aunt and uncle's home, and stepped into the warmth of the hallway. He could here the sounds of the T.V coming from the living room, and hoped that his relatives were too engrossed in whatever stupid show they were watching to notice Harry's return. Harry slowly made his way to the foot of the stairs, avoiding the numerous crates of fizzy pop, loafs of bread and boxes of biscuits that cluttered the hall. He was just about to place his foot on the bottom-most step, when his uncle came bumbling out of the lounge.
'YOU! BOY! What time do you call this?" Uncle Vernon spluttered angrily.
'Ummm, quarter-to-eight.' Harry replied, watching his uncle turn a deep shade of purple.
'Quarter-to-eight? QUARTER-TO-EIGHT? I'LL GIVE YOU QUARTER-TO-EIGHT!" he fumed. 'PETUNIA!'
Harry waited for his skinny, horse-like aunt to appear, closely followed by Dudley, who wasn't even attempting to mask the look of pure delight that always crossed his piggy face when Harry was being told off.
'Petunia, fetch the disinfectant. We can't have the likes of him bringing infected spores into the house.' Uncle Vernon ordered. 'And you boy! What do you think you're doing venturing out into the plague-ridden streets at all times of the day? Trying to infect us are you, boy?"
'I told you, there's no such thing as the plague! It's V-'
'I don't want to hear your feeble excuses, boy! Think your immune to the plague, do you? No doubt it was one of your kind that started this whole thing off.' he roared.
'Vernon! Shhh! The neighbours might hear.' Aunt Petunia hissed, running back into the hallway, wearing pink rubber gloves, a surgical mask and carrying a large bottle of disinfectant.
She then began to spray liberal amounts of the foul smelling liquid all over Harry, and anywhere else she suspected he might have infected. Harry used the diversion to dash upstairs to his room.
'I WILL NOT HAVE YOU INFECTING MY FAMILY!' Uncle Vernon shouted after him.
Once he was safely in his room, Harry lifted the loose floorboard under his bed, and removed the large cake that Mrs. Weasley had sent for his sixteenth birthday. It was starting to become a little stale now, but even old cake was better than the rations Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon has been giving him.
His eyes scanned over the birthday cards on his desk. There was one less than last year - now Sirius was gone. Harry felt his stomach twist into knots of sadness, and felt the tears stinging his eyes. It was his fault that Sirius was dead. If only he hadn't raced to the Department of Mysteries. It was a trap - of course it was. Looking back now, it was obviously Voldemort's work. But he had fallen for it, and now Sirius was dead.
Harry reached for the broken two-way mirror his godfather had given him last year. He had told Harry to use it if he needed to talk to him, but Harry had forgotten all about it. If only he had remembered it. If only, if only, if only. But what good was if only? 'If only' wasn't going to bring Sirius back. Nothing could bring Sirius back.
White hot anger blazed through Harry, he picked up the nearest object, a homework planner Hermione had given him last Christmas, and hurled it against the wall. It hit the floor with a thud.
'If you've dotted the "i"s and crossed the "t"s then you may do whatever you please!' it said happily.
Harry groaned.
A soft tapping interrupted Harry's thoughts. He opened the bedroom window, letting an overzealous Pig zoom into the room, and sending the cardboard "plague-proof" shutters plummeting onto the garden, for the third time that week. Harry managed to keep the little owl still long enough to pull off the letter fastened to it's leg.
'Harry - Mum reckons you'll have had enough of the Muggles by now. So we're going to pick you up on Saturday, and you can stay with us for the rest of the holidays. Dad says he'll fellytone the Muggles tomorrow, but we'll be coming on Saturday at 6 o'clock whether they like it or not.
See you soon,
Ron
P.S: How were your O.W.L grades? Mine were better than I thought! I bet they're not as good as Hermione's though.
P.P.S: Congratulations on making Quidditch captain - I knew you would!'
Harry took a spare piece of parchment, and hastily scribbled a reply to his best friend;
'Ron - See you on Saturday!'
He looked at the unopened brown envelope on his desk, 'Harry James Potter - O.W.L results', Maybe he would just neglect to mention anything about exam results just now. He signed his name at the bottom of the parchment and send it back to Ron with Pig.
'HARRY POTTER!' Uncle Vernon bellowed up the stairs. 'GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!'
Harry rolled his eyes. He could do without another lecture from his aunt and uncle about keeping out infected spores in the air. What did it even matter that Harry opened his window? The so-called-plague didn't even exist.
'POTTER!' Uncle Vernon roared, his patience beginning to wane.
Before he even realised what he was doing, Harry was throwing his belongings into a trunk and making his way downstairs - wand at the ready.
'What - Where - What?' Uncle Vernon spluttered, his face turning a deep shade of puce.
'I'm going to stay with the Weasleys.' Harry answered his Uncle's unspoken question.
'Those freaks?' Aunt Petunia cut in.
'At least those "freaks" can think of something else to talk about other than a plague that doesn't even exist!' Harry triumphed, throwing open the door and stepping outside into the cool night air.
As Harry made his way down the garden path, dragging his belongings behind him, he could hear Uncle Vernon's panicked shouts, urging Aunt Petunia to get the disinfectant.
Harry shook his head in disbelief - how thick could you get?