Transcending the Dark
After the events of fifth year Harry is forced into the heart of the war. Seeking retribution and salvation, can Harry find the strength to transcend the dark?
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling is the creator and owner of all characters and settings in her Harry Potter series. All other characters and settings mentioned in the following story are mine.
Chapter OneSummer Pains
Harry awoke drenched in cold sweat. His sheets were tangled around his limbs and he gasped out loud trying to wrench himself free of his bindings. Panting hard he tore the covers away from his sweat soaked body and leaned over the bed, willing himself not to vomit. His scar, which had been tingling all day, was now burning as though someone had pressed a white-hot brand to his forehead. Fighting against the pain, he pressed all memories of the latest Voldemort induced vision, far from his mind. Don't think about the Death-Eaters murdering that family. Don't think about how the mother had red hair like your own mother. Don't think about the begging, the torture, the death . . .
Hatred coursed through his body. Voldemort had no right to decide who should live and who should die! No one did. He clenched his jaw remembering the screaming and pleading, remembered the little red haired girl crying as her mother hid her in the tiny hidden room behind the fireplace. Remembered tiny hands clutching her mothers as the woman gave her daughter the last kiss she would ever give her . . .
They will be avenged. He swore, his hands curling into fists. Their murderers will not go unpunished. A reckoning is coming and justice will be served . . .
Slipping out of his bed he walked silently to the window and swung it open. Looking out into the darkness of the night he breathed in the cool air. He felt trapped, suffocated by the vision. He had to get out. He longed to run. Run harder and faster then he ever had before. Run far away and escape this cursed existence. Escape his life, his destiny. Harry sighed. Fat chance of that happening. Especially now that he knew about the prophecy. He glared at the starry night sky before turning away from the window.
His eyes settled on a stack of letters on his bedside table. Harry gritted his teeth as he stared at Hermiones last letter. ' . . . I know that you want to talk about what happened to Snuffles that night. As soon as you get back to headquarters, we'll talk about it . . .' Harry gave a small growl. The last thing he wanted to talk about was how he was responsible for his godfather's death! He balled his hands into fists. 'Don't think about that. Don't think about that. Don't think about that.'
But he could not stop the overwhelming sense of entrapment that at this moment swept over him. He had to get out of this house, if only for a few hours. Listening hard for any signs of movement outside Harry sighed when he heard a soft crunch of gravel in the driveway. The Order had been keeping an eye on him all summer. The past month had been an absolute nightmare. He was under constant supervision 24 hours a day everyday. There were usually two guards and they worked in four-hour shifts. One pair would start at six and would be relieved of guard duty at ten by a second pair and so on. Harry was allowed no contact with them whatsoever. This had thoroughly pissed Harry off. It was bad enough being stuck at Privet Drive for the summer, let alone being watched by invisible Order members all day and all night. He had absolutely no privacy, which of course added to his trapped feelings.
Hearing soft voices coming from outside his window he went still. Silently he crept to the window, listening hard.
" . . . another attack last night." Said a female voice that Harry found slightly familiar. "In London. Three families killed. The Hoppins, the Glousberries and the Ispis'. Not to mention most of the muggle neighbours. I think the count was forty-three dead and sixteen injured. And three Muggles received the Kiss. Muggles can't even see the Dementors, let alone defend themselves from them!"
"It's disgusting." A mans voice growled, Harry recognized as Kingsley Shaklebolt. "Ever since the Ministry finally let the public know about the Dark Lords return, You-Know-Who has really come out with wands blazing. That must have been the eighth attack since the Ministry of Magic that night . . ."
"Dumbledore knows something." Came the witch's whisper.
"How can you be sure? Dumbledore would have said if something was going to happen." Came Kingsleys strained whisper.
"He knows. Or he at least suspects. You-Know-Who is up to something and Merlin have pity if He chooses to act now, while the Ministry's still reeling from the news that He has returned. And Dumbledore is definitely worried about something. I just hope he knows what he's doing."
Harry frowned, as the night was silent again. That was the most information he had received all summer and he had to hear it by skulking in the shadows. Hadn't Dumbledore figured out that it was a really bad idea to keep Harry in the dark about these things? People died when Harry made mistakes. He needed to know what was going on!
He slid down the wall pondering what he had just heard. So Voldemort was stepping up with the war. Definitely not good. And Dumbledore knew something is going to happen soon. And he was worried enough that the others in the Order were beginning to notice something. Dumbledore never let anyone know what was going on behind that damn twinkle of his. This had to be serious . . .
He balled his hands into fists and scowled at the wall. It had been like this for three weeks now. No news but the tiny snatches of conversation he managed to overhear his guards muttering about, mostly over what they were having for dinner when they got off their shift.
The Daily Prophet had been less then helpful. It was full of nothing but people claiming to have fought for their souls in deadly Dementor attacks, while stupefying Death-Eaters at a mere glance and juggling a bus full of muggle schoolchildren whose lives they had just saved. The only thing Harry found even remotely interesting and very amusing, were Fudges attempts to stay in office.
The pompous old windbag had been charging into 'suspected Death-Eater' households with a full SWAT team of aurors, each time only to discover a perfectly normal family about to sit down to dinner. There had been eleven of these 'arrests', two of which had been on muggle families who had never even heard of Voldemort, Hogwarts, or the magical world in general, and one which had been on Amelia Bones' cat, whom Fudge was sure was an animagus sent to spy on the ministry official.
The cat, Mr Tiddlewinks, had been in an auror holding cell for four days before finally being released back into Madam Bones' care after no one could find anything remotely suspicious about the animal. Mr Tiddlewinks was still under close observation by the Ministers orders.
Harry was severely doubtful that Fudge would stay in power much longer. If it had been up to him, the Minister would have been thrown out of office the moment Voldemorts return had been made public. He also knew he wasn't the only one that thought so. The public were outraged by Fudges actions, or lack of, regarding Voldemort and His return. There was not much they could do to get rid of him though, as Fudges term as Minister could only end in three years time when the next election would determine the next Minister of Britains Ministry of Magic. It was basically impossible for their deranged Minister to be booted until then. Wizarding Law prohibited it.
Harry winced as he felt a slight pain twinge his scar. It had been affecting him all summer, sometimes only twinging while at others Harry would wake up screaming from the pain. The next day the Daily Prophet would be full of news on Voldemorts latest massacre. Harry of course, would already have known much of the details from glimpses of torture and death in his dreams. The visions had become more frequent since the beginning of the holidays so Harry had thrown himself into his Occlumency. He had been slowly building up a state of complete blissful nothingness in his mind that he could throw up at a moments notice.
That was the first step. The next was for Harry to make up a fake wall of thoughts and memories, to make any intruders believe that nothing else lay past Harry's thoughts about the last Potions exam or a memory of playing Quidditch at Hogwarts. It was designed to show the intruder harmless images that Harry had placed as a wall around his true subconscious. While the memories had to be convincing Harry was having trouble selecting the ones that would cause the least harm, if someone broke into his thoughts. After this wall of harmless memories Harry would have to make a mental shield to make it appear that he was trying to protect these memories.
If, by some miracle, an intruder broke through his outer shield, his wall of memories, and a stronger shield enforced behind these thoughts, Harry would simply slip into his 'dream state' where he would simply wipe all thought and memory from his mind. The only way anyone could break through that was to force Harry to think, opening a door into his mind where the thought flowed from and allowing them to force there way in.
Harry checked his watch. It was a few minutes until two o'clock, when the guards would change over. Thinking fast Harry made up his mind. He had to get out. He'd been cooped up long enough. Swiftly and silently he moved to the dresser and pulled out a pair of pants and a t-shirt. He had taken to sleeping in only his boxers, as the heat this summer was almost as bad as the last. He slipped a dark t-shirt over his head and pulled on his trainers, lacing them up quickly. Snatching his wand from the bedside table he snuck back over to the window. The two guards were moving around to the side of the house, ready to change shifts away from prying muggle eyes. As soon as Harry was sure they were out of earshot, he shoved his wand into the waistband of his jeans and grabbed his jacket from the floor where it lay in a crumpled heap.
Swinging one leg out of the window, he wrapped the jacket around the drainpipe. Swinging the rest of his body out the window, he used the drainpipe to slide to the ground. Quickly unwinding his jacket, he crouched low amongst the bushes, waiting. As soon as the cracks of the fresh guards sounded throughout the yard he bent low and ran, feet moving silently over the ground. Reaching the fence of number two, he threw himself to the ground behind their well-trimmed hedge and went completely still, waiting for any sign that his guards had heard him.
There was a low murmur of the four adults voices relaying information and then the cracks of Kingsley and the woman disapperating. Harry smirked. That was much easier then the last few times he had snuck out. It was a little disconcerting that he had been managing to outwit his guards so easily. What would have happened if he had been a Death-Eater instead? Harry frowned and shook off these troubling thoughts, shrugging on his jacket he started to walk away from Privet Drive.
His feet automatically went into autopilot; he had spent so much time pounding the pavement these past few weeks they seemed to simply know where he wanted to go. He avoided the alleyway where the Dementors had attacked him last year, as well as the alleyway where he had first seen Sirius in dog form. Oh god, Sirius. I'm so sorry. But I swear I'll find justice. For you, for Mum and Dad, for Cedric, for the little girl left crying behind the fireplace . . . And for me.
Harry could deny it to himself no longer. He wanted revenge. He thirsted for it. It was all that made him wake each day. Voldemort would not take from him another person he loved. He would die before letting that happen. His hands were already red with innocent blood. He would make sure to add the blood of the guilty before he faced his death.
Harry swiftly vaulted over the park fence and headed for the swing set. Despite the park being repaired during the previous year, with Dudley and his gang's return it had gone back to the derelict state it had been in last summer. Harry sat down on one of the remaining swings and wound the chain around his arm. The soft moonlight played down on his face and Harry closed his eyes letting the warm and silent night wash over him.
This was peace. There was no war, no Voldemort, no prophecy. Harry felt out with his magic expanding his awareness, letting the night fill his being. One of Mrs Figgs cats was slinking through the bushes following the trail of a mouse. He knew without seeing it that a dog lay curled under one of the bushes, snoring in a dog way. Harry breathed in deeply letting the woody, clean smell of the park fill his lungs. The wind stirred making the branches of the trees sway in the breeze that now filled the once calm night and kissed his cheeks.
There was another six weeks until school started again. Harry wasn't sure if he was happy to be going back to the wizarding world or not. The wizarding world was the home of everything he lived for, yet at the same time he despised it with every part of his being. Sure there he had friends, a home, family even. But at the same time there were dark lords, reporters and everyone looking for him to save the world time, after time, after time.
Harry had survived the last few weeks by going from one extreme mood to the other. At times his depression was so low he found himself contemplating death. At others he found the smallest things so wonderfully beautiful and full of life that he would be horrified that his thoughts could ever turn to death by his own hand.
How long Harry stayed there he didn't know, but the stars were beginning to wink out by the time he realised he should return soon. Slowly he unwound himself from the swing and silently made his way through the dark shadows towards Privet Drive. He cursed to himself as he crouched beneath the bushes of number two. The guards were in the driveway. He could hear the soft crunch of gravel as they shifted their weight and quiet breathing. Getting out had been easy. It was just getting back in that was going to be a problem.
Frowning Harry stayed still as a statue trying to find a way out of this dilemma. He nearly jumped a mile when something warm wound itself around his ankles. Looking down he saw one of Mrs Figg's ginger cats purring contently and rubbing its head against Harry's knee. Smirking evilly, Harry had an idea. Picking the cat up gently, he crept over to the metal dustbins in front of number two and took the lid off. Smiling apologetically at the cat, he dumped it unceremoniously into the bin and slammed the lid back on before ducking into the bushes again.
The cat's reaction was instantaneous. It yowled and the garbage can began banging noisily as the trapped feline went absolutely crazed trying to free itself. The guards were at the scene almost instantly.
"What in the name of Hades is it?" hissed a male voice.
"How should I know!?" a woman answered angrily. "Maybe you should check what's in it? It's gonna wake all the Muggles!"
"I ain't opening it!" came the man's panicky voice. "You open it!"
Harry chuckled to himself and crept past his now occupied guards.
"Fine!" hissed the woman and opened the lid. That was a mistake. The furious feline launched itself at her. Harry turned around at her shriek. He had to force himself to subdue his laughter at the sight of the cat latched on the place where he supposed the woman's head would be. It was rather funny watching the cat claw and tear at seemingly thin air. The woman was screeching and by the sounds of things the man had caught a few of the cats swipes as he tried to wrestle the animal off of his companion, bellowing loudly.
Chuckling to himself he nimbly climbed up the drainpipe and swung a leg into his window. Looking back with a grin, he watched as the cat was torn away from its prey and hissing wildly disappeared into the dark. Feeling decidedly more cheerful then when he had first woke he climbed back into his window and slunk back to his bed for a few hours sleep until he would have to get up.
Remus sat in the darkness of the kitchen in number twelve Grimmauld Place, hands wrapped around a mug of tea that had long since gone cold. Warm brown eyes surveyed the mug sadly and he sighed.
He did not want to be here. Not here where only a few months ago Sirius had walked this houses hallways, sat in its chairs, eaten at this table. Remus swallowed hard, pushing down the feelings of grief and despair that threatened to engulf him. He could not let himself succumb to these feelings while there was work to be done. The war was finally out in the open. Voldemort had begun to step up the offensive and people had started dying. Both wizard and muggle alike. And so with the enemy's ranks expanding, so to had the Order of the Phoenix expanded. The old house was constantly filled with people, mostly the Weasleys and the rest of the Orders children. A private moment was hard to find these days, especially for grieving. In the eyes of the Order there was no time for remembering the deaths that had already begun to plague them. There would be more then enough time for grief when the war was over or when you were dead. Whichever one came first.
Suddenly and without warning he swept himself to his feet and flung the mug from him violently. It hit the wall and shattered in a shower of porcelain and cold tea. Feeling more satisfied then before Remus smiled grimly, flicking his wand at the mess that dripped down the wall and covered the floor, making it disappear instantly.
More then anything Remus wanted to talk to Harry. He was probably the only other person hurting as much as he was over Sirius' death.
Harry. Remus was worried about him. The teenagers few letters had been short and irritable to practically everyone. No-one had been spared when Harry had sent several angry letters, telling people to either give him some more information about what was going on, or else they could all just stick their letters full of unhelpful hints and unwanted sympathy . . . somewhere rather distasteful. Remus had laughed himself stupid over the looks on some of the Order member's faces when they had received Harry's letters just over two weeks ago. He doubted any of them had thought of Harry as anything other then a poster child for the war, let alone entertained the thought that he was fighting Voldemort just as hard as any of them were. Maybe more.
A small grin graced his face as he thought back to the last few Order meetings. Harry's guards had been berated for not once but twice having Harry slip out of their sight and protection. Both times the teenager had climbed out of his window and slid down the drainpipe unnoticed by his Bodyguards. Remus supposed he should feel some sort of anger or disappointment with Harry's intentional aversion of his guards, but found he felt only a satisfying pride that his cub was able to outwit first one then two fully trained aurors.
Dumbledore had almost done his nut when first Mundungus, then Digglesby and Heathley had reported that they had lost the teenager on two occasions, one of which Harry had taken a muggle taxi to London for the day as he was bored and wanted to go shopping. The second time had been in the middle of the night and Harry had gone for a stroll at two o'clock in the morning and did not return until noon. He'd refused to say anything to his guards about where he had been, saying simply that he was not allowed any contact with his guards so he certainly shouldn't be speaking to them in broad daylight.
Dumbledore thought this to be deadly serious. If it was this easy for a teenaged boy to get in and out of the premises with fully trained aurors standing guard, how easily could a death-eater or assassin get in? Dumbledore had been run-ragged for the past several weeks. The magical community were in disarray. The Minister had turned out to be a nutter that arrested cats, attacks were beginning to occur all over the country and people were dying. Voldemort was in hiding and directing his side of the war holed up in one of his many hiding places all over the world, and the entire wizarding world were looking to Dumbledore for a solution.
His ears pricked up as he heard footsteps coming from upstairs. Two voices were arguing angrily.
"And could you have taken any longer getting that mad beast off of me!" screeched Helga as she burst into the kitchen followed by Mundungus. "Our cover was almost blown!"
"Oy, ya can't blame a man for being cautious, can ya?" yelled Dung as he limped over to the sink and pulled a bottle of fire whisky out from underneath. Standing up again he took a long swig before continuing. "Coulda been a Death-Eater for all we knew!"
"Oh that's so much better isn't it?" hissed Helga as she poked Dung in the chest in an accusatory fashion. "So much better that you let me open the damn thing in the first place! Considering that it might have been a Death-Eater rather then one of Arabella's mad cats!"
Remus snorted bringing himself to the two newcomers attention. The werewolf smirked at their surprised faces. Helga's face and neck were covered in scratches, as were Dungs arms.
"Run into some trouble on duty?" he asked innocently. They both scowled at him making him snort with laughter again. Becoming serious again he looked at Helga. "Did you see Harry?"
Helgas face softened to a sympathetic smile. "Not tonight Remus. All we saw all night was a mongrel cat that tried to kill us." She frowned. "How the hell would that cat have gotten into a dustbin in the first place?"
"What the hell do ya care for?" growled Dung before he poured fire whisky over the scratches on his arms. He swore loudly and rather creatively making both Remus and Helga wince in sympathy.
"Why don't you just get Poppy to take a look at those Dung?" asked Remus. "Her method would be a lot less painful then that."
Dung growled something about nurses not being worth trusting and limped out of the room as he wrapped a bandage around his forearm. Remus shared a glance with Helga and shook his head wearily.
"Are you alright Remus?" asked Helga as she sat down, frowning in concern.
Remus rubbed his eyes tiredly and sighed. "No I'm not . . . but I will be. One day . . ."
Helga placed a hand over his and smiled in comfort. They sat in silence until the first sounds of movement above them signalled that the occupants of the house were waking and the new day had begun.
Harry felt along in the darkness of the garden shed, grumbling about useless relatives under his breath. He ducked under a large spiders web, not wanting to destroy the work the tiny creature had put into it, and finally found the shovel. The Dursley's were heaping on the slave labour this summer. The garden of number four had taken a nosedive during the drought the previous summer and so Uncle Vernon had decided to remodel the entire yard. Front and back. He had spent insane amounts of money on plants, pavers and trees. Even a small fishpond for the back garden. Of course it wasn't Uncle Vernon doing the physical work. No that was Harry's job. A way to 'pay the Dursleys back somewhat, for forcing them to keep him over the summer'. All Uncle Vernon did was bark orders at him from the shade of the porch as he sipped a glass of lemonade.
Harry grabbed the shovel and ducked back out of the shed, making sure to stay clear of the spider's web. Thankfully his Uncle was working today, so Harry didn't have to listen to his constant demanding orders about how the roses had to be placed exactly sixteen inches away from the new path Harry had slaved over last week, so they would have full advantage of the afternoon sunlight. Harry walked nimbly over to the large area Uncle Vernon had roped off the previous week for the fishpond to be placed. Luckily it had rained a little over the past few days, breaking the drought and the earth was still soft. Sighing to himself he dug the shovel into the soil and begun his work for the day.
Harry was somewhat grateful for all the extra work. He had sped through all his summer homework during the first week of holidays and was rereading all of his Quidditch books each night as he lay in bed. Anything to keep his mind off of what had happened that night. What he had found out about himself, his destiny. And Sirius falling through the veil . . . Harry dug harder forcing all thought from his head.
It was well past midday when Harry had finished. He walked into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. Aunt Petunia gave him a disapproving look as she added milk to her tea. "Make sure you shower before Vernon gets home," she ordered as she took a sip of tea, crinkling her nose at Harry's sweat soaked shirt and muddy sneakers. "He won't approve of the state you're in."
Harry took another gulp of water. "Yes, Aunt Petunia." He said, knowing full well that going along with the Dursleys was the only way to avoid a shouting match. He took another gulp of water before placing the empty bottle in the trash and walking upstairs. He would have had to shower anyway. He was going over to Mrs. Figgs that evening, and he was pretty sure she wouldn't let him in the front door if he turned up like this.
After a good twenty minutes under hot water, Harry pulled on a black t-shirt, an old pair of jeans and his sneakers. Grabbing a hooded jacket from the back of his desk chair he shrugged that on too. Pausing for a moment he stopped and opened a drawer at his desk. He pulled out an object swathed in velvet. Slowly unwrapping it he pulled a silver dagger from the folds of the material. An emerald was set in the hilt and the blade was sheathed in a leather scabbard. He strapped the sheath to his left forearm and covered it with his jacket sleeve. Harry had purchased the weapon last time he had been to London on a late night shopping spree. It couldn't hurt to have an extra trick up his sleeve.
Finally tucking his wand into the waistband of his jeans he ran a hand through his hair and headed out the door, pausing to dump his dirty clothes in the washing hamper before going downstairs. He passed Dudley on the way down. He wore a thick black leather jacket and had a motorbike magazine tucked under his arm. He eyed Harry warily as they passed but said nothing. Dudley's birthday had been a few weeks before and his parents had gotten him a big black motorcycle. Dudley now spent his free time revving up and down the street at odd hours and running down animals and small children.
Harry spent the remainder of the afternoon helping his Aunt with the chores around the house. Finally five o'clock rolled around and Uncle Vernon strolled in the front door, humming merrily and swinging his briefcase.
"Don't worry about dinner tonight Petunia!" he announced with a smug smirk. "I've just closed a huge deal with Harkins's Hardware. We're going out to celebrate! Not you." He added glaring at Harry. Turning back to Aunt Petunia he went on about the three other drill companies he'd beaten to win the deal with Harkins. Aunt Petunia was clapping her hands excitedly and gave Uncle Vernon a kiss on the cheek before announcing that she was going upstairs to get ready. Harry rolled his eyes. Uncle Vernon turned to him, glaring. "Now you, you are not to do any of your funny business while we're out. If I come home and – and find the house crawling with owls or – or flying cars anywhere near this area, I don't care what those freaks said, I'm chucking you out! Do you understand?"
Harry sighed and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes, Uncle Vernon."
The beefy man nodded squinting at him suspiciously. "And do something about your hair!" he hissed before turning and walking upstairs.
It was well after seven by the time the Dursleys finally left for dinner. As soon as their car had gone around the corner Harry was off down the street. He could hear soft footsteps following him and he fought the urge to turn and clobber the invisible guy who was tailing him. He quickened his step and turned quickly into an alley, vaulting over the fence at the end. He smirked evilly as he heard whoever was following him swear and try to heave themselves over the high fence.
He finally reached number fourteen Wisteria Walk and opened the tiny gate to the white picket fence surrounding the garden. Walking up the garden path he felt something warm and furry wind itself around his ankles. Looking down he spotted a ginger coloured fur ball rubbing its head against him. He smiled. "Forgiven me have you?" It responded by curling itself around his legs again. He bent down to pick it up and scratched behind the animal's ears as it purred contently. Reaching the door he rang the bell.
Arabella took the boiling kettle off the stove and poured steaming water into the two teacups placed in front of her. The Potter boy would be here any minute. He had been coming to visit several times a week to see if she had any information from Dumbledore and to chat. He had even helped clean out the attic the other day when the Dursleys had been out. Arabella frowned. She was worried about him. Harry hadn't seemed to slow down at all these days. He went from one chore to the next and then asked for more. She had seen him jogging every evening and from the looks of things he wasn't exactly slacking off at the Dursleys. She doubted he had time to think, with the yard work, his Aunts errands and chores, and then his own efforts to keep himself busy.
She had heard what had happened at the Department of Mysteries of course. Sirius' death must have hit him hard for him to be obsessing over keeping busy like this. Most summers he would lock himself inside his room and only come out when it was absolutely necessary. This summer however had seen him running all over town on errands for his Aunt. To the locals, whom had thought 'the Potter boy' to have dropped off the face of the planet after his eleventh birthday, many found his presence alarming. He was after all, a hardened delinquent whom attended St. Brutus'. That fact alone had people gossiping over him. He was followed every time he set foot into a shop in case St Brutus' hadn't straightened him out and he decided to knick something. Arabella smiled. The girls of Little Whinging however seemed not to care whether Harry was a hooligan or not. She had been standing in line at the Supermarket the other day when Harry entered the store to get something for Petunia. A group of teenaged girls behind her had gone dead quiet, as he had passed giving a small smile to Arabella. As soon as he was out of earshot they had exploded with low whispers and giggles.
"That boy is fine!"
"Those dreamy eyes. I could just stare at his eyes all day. He's just so soulful . . ."
"How could he be related to anyone as ugly as Dudley Dursley? Why does he even live with them anyway?"
"Don't you know? His parents are both dead. Died when he was just a baby."
"Oh I didn't know . . . Look there he is!"
"You know he goes jogging every night past my place. He looks great in sweat."
"Mmmm . . . Isn't he just yummy?"
Arabella watched amused as the group of girls kept their eyes glued to the unsuspecting boy. She had to smother a snort as they all squealed in delight as he had reached for a box of muesli on the top shelf, and his shirt rode up a bit, giving the goggling teenagers a decent view of well defined abdominal muscles.
Arabella shook her head in amusement as she placed the two teacups on the wooden table. At least the boy was finally growing into his looks. He had always been too short and too skinny. Now however, his shoulders had broadened out and he had grown a few more inches. He was still far from being tall but at least now his height didn't resemble that of a ten year old.
The doorbell rang before Arabella heard the sound of the door being opened. "Mrs. Figg? You home?"
Arabella smiled at the boy's voice. Harry had a presence that seemed to ooze comfort and security. You automatically felt safe when he was around. "Of course dear! I'm in the kitchen!"
Harry appeared around the corner cradling one of Arabella's many cats. He placed the fur ball on the floor near the animals' water dish and smiled warmly at her, if not a little tiredly. Arabella stopped herself from doing a double take. Those emerald eyes were much to old for a boy of sixteen. Harry's eyes had always held such depth and emotion, but lately pain and terrible sadness would flit across them for but a split second. It would be gone the moment you tried to take a closer look, and leave you wondering whether you had seen it to begin with. She smiled back at him and placed a tray of assorted biscuits, sugary cakes and other edibles on the table.
"Take a seat dear, you look dead on your feet." She ordered gesturing at a chair as she shoved a grey tabby cat off her chair and took her own seat. He sat down and took his cup of tea from her gratefully. He ran a thumb over the battered china cup and breathed in the scent.
"Has there been any news?" he asked taking a sip. Arabella shook her head despondently. "I'm afraid not," she said trying hard not to smile as the young man before her added a dollop of honey to his tea and stirred it in. "I've had almost as little news as yourself. But I do have something for you. Remus asked if I could forward it along to you."
Harry looked up with interest. Remus? What on earth could Professor Lupin be sending him? He watched as Arabella got up and busied around the kitchen. "Ah here it is," she muttered and turned back to the table placing a small wooden box on the table before him. Harry picked it up, examining it.
It was dark, almost black in colour and fit easily in the palm of his hand. A rose was carved into the lid and runes were engraved on the sides. It was a beautiful thing, which looked both old and expensive. He opened the catch and his lips parted in surprise. It was a silver pendant no larger then a fifty-cent piece hanging from a chain. All around the edges of the disk were tiny runes engraved in the silver. A tiny sword was attached to the disk, running straight through the centre. A snake with tiny sparkling emeralds for eyes was wound around the blade. Harry turned it over and saw words engraved on the back.
Evil comes in many shades,
but love comes in white
and transcends the dark.
"What is this?" he murmured out loud.
Arabella smiled softly. "He said it belonged to your mother. Would you like to put it on?"
Harry however was already clasping the chain around his throat. He touched the pendent and frowned, wondering about the meaning of the snake and the sword. Why had his Mother possessed this? What did the runes mean? He would ask Hermione to translate them for him when he saw her next. She had taken Ancient Runes over the past few years.
"Very unusual looking." Commented Arabella as she took another sip of tea. "It seems to suit you though. Remus told me that it has protection spells on it with your mother's magical signature. But he hasn't been able to decipher exactly which protection spells she used, or why. Interesting workmanship though, don't you say?"
Harry nodded, becoming a little uncomfortable as Mrs Figg peered at him from over her cup of tea. He tucked the pendant under his shirt and looked up again. "Do you have the results of the Ireland Vs Brazil match? I bet Seamus five Galleons that Brazil would win is all . . . "
Tonks shivered and pulled her cloak closer to her body. She had started her shift at six o'clock when it had still been relatively warm. Now however a cool wind was blowing and she hadn't thought to wear something warmer. What she wouldn't give right now for a bowl of Molly's hot soup. Mrs Weasley had been cooking as Tonks was leaving and had promised to save her some for when she finished her shift. Mrs Weasley had been a right mother duck with the Order members, fretting about the state of Remus' robes, fussing that Snape never ate enough and always worrying about Tonks' latest accident. She was also the unofficial housekeeper and baby-sitter for Grimmauld Places' dozens of children. It was a good thing the mansion was so big or else they would have found themselves overrun with children long ago.
Tonks checked her watch again. It was nearly nine now. Harry had left the house at seven after the Dursleys had left. Her partner for the night, Martin Malarkey, had followed him telling Tonks to stay put and guard the house. He had then come trudging back half an hour later with a broken ankle after falling off of a large fence that Harry had scaled, in an attempt to follow him. Tonks scowled. He was probably lounging about at headquarters right now, with a bowl of creamy pumpkin soup.
Stop thinking about food! Tonks ordered herself. It just makes it worse.
Suddenly a hand grabbed her shoulder and she spun around whipping out her wand and brandishing it before her. What she saw made her stop dead. She let her arm fall to her side and looked at the figure before her in horror.
"Marcus?"
Harry was helping Mrs Figg clean up the dishes when a frantic banging sounded from the door. He looked up in surprise hand automatically on his wand. Arabella quickly checked through the peephole. "Oh dear lord!" she whispered and flung the door open to let two figures stumble into the room. Harry gaped for a moment before rushing forward to help Tonks haul a bleeding, semiconscious and shirtless man over the threshold.
Arabella cleared the kitchen table of what was left on it and Harry and Tonks gently lowered the man onto the table. "Oh my god, Marcus . . ." whispered Arabella fearfully. Blood was leaking onto the table. She turned to Harry. "Quickly, get some bandages out of the linin closet." Harry nodded and left for the bandages.
Tonks had torn off her cloak and was using it to apply pressure to a jagged slash across his ribs. "Marcus can you hear me? Marcus, wake up please! Come on you're stronger then this! Marcus?" Arabella grabbed a clean cloth from a drawer and began cleaning the blood off his face from a nasty looking cut across his cheekbone. It looked as though his left arm was broken and by the massive yellow bruise on his torso, Arabella bet he had a few broken ribs as well.
Harry returned to the room carrying a bundle of bandages against his chest. Arabella swiftly passed him the bloody cloth and gestured that he continue cleaning the wounds, while she grabbed the bandages and began to wrap them around a wound on his right forearm. Wincing slightly at the extent of the mans injuries Harry gently washed the blood from his chest. The mans eyes flickered open and he grabbed Harry's wrist. "Is it safe?" he hissed at him his blue eyes searching Harry's. Harry gaped at him but was saved from answering by Tonks.
"Marcus! What happened? Where have you been? Last we heard you and Jack were in China. Who did this to you?"
"Death-eaters," growled Marcus as he tried to push himself up into a sitting position. "They cornered me in Hong Kong. I made it out. Jack didn't."
"Merlin, Marcus, I'm so sorry." Whispered Tonks as she brushed chestnut coloured hair out of the mans eyes. Harry helped pull him into a sitting position so Mrs Figg could bandage his side.
"Marcus," whispered Tonks tentatively. "Did you find it?" Marcus nodded grimly. "Would you believe it if I told you I bought it from a muggle in a pawn shop for six pounds? The old guy thought it was a paperweight." He gave a hoarse bark of laughter. His good arm strayed down to his waist where his wand was tucked into his pants and a pouch hung from his belt. He pulled the pouch off the belt and undid the drawstring, letting a small box fall into his hand. Writing that looked foreign to Harry was burnt into the dark wood of the box. Marcus pressed a thumb to the top of the box and it snapped open. Wincing slightly he pulled an amulet hanging from a gold chain out of the box. Harry stared at it in wonder. It spun slightly in the dim light of the kitchen and made tiny rainbows dance over the surface of the table. It was made of woven gold with a large black gemstone set into the centre. Harry frowned at the gem. It was unlike anything he had seen before and he was strangely drawn to it. It seemed to absorb the light into its inky blackness rather then reflect it. "The box is merely a trinket," wheezed Marcus as he struggled to breathe. "But the pendant-"
"Is the key . . ." breathed Tonks. Marcus nodded and put it back into its box snapping the lid shut before placing it on the table. "They know I have it." He groaned as he tried to sit up. Sweat was pouring down his face in an effort to keep talking. "They won't take long to track me."
"Then we must get you to headquarters immediately." Said Arabella. "Tonks if you could?"
Tonks muttered a few words pointing her wand at the fireplace before a small fire suddenly blazed in the grate. Arabella turned to Harry. "You must come with us as well Harry. If Death-eaters are coming here-" Harry nodded. "I understand." He said helping Tonks pull Marcus to his feet.
Arabella took Marcus' weight from Harry and she and Tonks helped him towards the fire. "Harry, grab the box will you?" she called over her shoulder as she threw a pinch of Floo powder into the fire making the flames emerald green. Harry snatched the box from the table and slipped it inside his jacket.
"Harry, come straight after us, alright?" Ordered Arabella as the three adults stepped into the fireplace. Harry nodded. "Yeah, of course."
"Number twelve Grimmauld Place" said Tonks and they disappeared in a flash of emerald flames. Harry took a deep breath as he took a pinch of Floo powder. Dear Merlin he hated travelling by Floo. He took a step towards the fireplace before stopping dead. Every hair on the back of his neck and his arms were standing on end. He felt his gut clench a split second before a bright red beam of light flashed past him and hit the fireplace. Harry was flung to the ground as an explosion rocked the room, sending rock and chunks of bricks in every direction. He groaned and slowly pulled himself to his feet, coughing from the smoke. Taking a glance around he saw that the fireplace and that entire wall of the house had been destroyed.
He froze as cruel laughter rang out behind him. He knew that laughter. He heard it every night in his dreams as Sirius fell through the veil. He turned to find Bellatrix Lestrange standing in the remains of the doorway, wand in hand and another six Death-eaters behind her.
"Why Potter," she said comically, sounding positively gleeful as she raised her wand straight at Harry's heart. "Fancy seeing you here!"
Well what do you think? Bites nails apprehensively. Click the pretty button at the bottom of the screen and review for me. I'll give u a cookie if u do!
Until next chapter!
jellylegs