Harry Potter and the Fate of Ravenclaw
By OnyxDawn
Summary: Severe HBP spoilers. Do not read if you have not read Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Godric's Hollow holds an interesting secret. A love affair from nearly a thousand years ago comes back to haunt Hogwarts when Harry, striking out in search of the four missing Horcruxes, comes across something entirely unexpected.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or related trademarks. Said trademarks belong to J.K. Rowling, and I intend to make no profit off their use.
A/N: There are two people I'd like to thank for helping me with this story. First, shiruba neko, my beta reader, for helping me get rid of all those nasty little errors that work their way into my writing. I would also like to thank Estalio for listening to me ramble about my plot, and telling us (probably unintentionally) spoilers for her own story, The Assassin's Curse (which I highly suggest for anyone who wants a good action/adventure/romance in the Rurouni Kenshin Fandom!).
A/N2: I've written this chapter almost five times, and each and every time it came out both slightly better and slightly worse than the last attempt. I'm not sure if I should be happy that this is done or upset that it didn't come out how I imagined it would originally. I know it's a typical start, probably not very interesting, but I think the content of the entire story will make up for it. Please tell me what you think!
A/N3 (Oct. 20): Ah ha! I finally sent this to Kathleen and back! Yay! There will be one more edit after this (for this chapter, anyway) when I fix the whole "trunk confusion" idea, but other than that, I'm happy with the finished first chapter. Kinda.
Chapter One: Goodbye to Childhood
Ron and Hermione had both arrived at Number Four, Private Drive on July thirteenth, just as they had previously arranged. They had helped Harry research, bringing all the books they possibly could on the Hogwarts Four and highlighting any piece of information pertinent to Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. They had helped Harry torment his cousin, teasing him endlessly and laughing in the light of something so simplistic. Ron quickly figured out that all he had to say was "Abracadabra" in order to send Dudley fleeing from whatever room they occupied.
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had conveniently planned a date when they heard that Harry's "freak" friends would be arriving and there was nothing they could do about it. Nor was there anything to do about the fact that Dudley had to stay at home and exercise on doctor's orders.
Seven days later, Ron and Hermione showed up again. This time, Dudley had managed to get out of his running time by complaining loudly that his ankle hurt too badly. So Ron, Hermione, and Harry had the whole of Number Four to themselves. Once again, they spent the day researching, playing chess, and attempting to push away the inevitable. But the evening came and went, and soon it was time for Ron and Hermione to be off. They promised to come again as soon as possible.
But they never got the chance.
Dear Harry, the letter from Hermione read,
The Ministry of Magic is putting new wards up around all of the magical homes, and the Burrow is included in that. Mr. Weasley says that nobody can leave the house until all of the wards are put up, so that they'll recognize us. I don't think they'll be up before your birthday, which is awful because Ron and I were both really looking forward to spending a few more days with you and packing up to come back all together. Now you'll be stuck with the Dursleys by yourself.
I'm not sure how they're going to get you to the Burrow because the wards are only going to recognize those who are here while they're being put up. I know it doesn't make any sense, but I think I understand it. Tonks was telling me all about how they could use something that you have come into contact with in the past to make the spells know you. It's really complicated and I was so tempted to read the books that the aurors had brought with them. But I've been searching too hard for anything on Gryffindor or Ravenclaw.
I'm really sorry Harry; I still haven't been able to find anything. Small objects that belonged to the Founders just don't appear in history books at random. I've looked for any information on Hufflepuff's goblet and Slytherin's locket, but I can't even find anything on those, let alone anything on objects we don't know that belonged to Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. But we'll keep searching, and someday I know we'll find what we're looking for. We always have before.
Even Ron is working endlessly on research for this; it's pretty impressive, actually, to walk into the living room and see him with a large tome on one leg and Goodymind's Dictionary on the other. He nearly gave Mrs. Weasley a heart attack! She thought he was studying for his NEWTs and she said that I must be rubbing off on him. That really made me feel guilty.
Don't worry, Harry, everything will turn out right in the end. You're still going through with your plan, right? It could be really dangerous, you know. I'm afraid that you might get cornered by some dark wizards somewhere. I'm really, really sorry Harry, but I told Professor Lupin what you're doing. He's going to meet you at Private Drive and catch the Knight Bus with you. Like I said, I'm really, really sorry, but it's for your own good.
Love from,
Hermione
P.S. We haven't told the Weasleys (or anybody else, for that matter) what we're going to do. I hope you're ready for this, Harry; I hope we all are.
Harry hadn't felt anything, particularly, when he read this letter. A brief, long-forgotten surge of something that might have been resentment had flooded through his chest before reason took control and told him this was hardly anything more than what he'd expected. Of course Hermione would have had the sense to tell somebody…
He lay on his bed, legs kicked up against a closed window-sill and hands resting serenely across his chest. The clock, he knew without looking at it, read some time between seven and eight in the evening. The calendar on his nightstand had all the days crossed off up to July thirtieth. Tomorrow being his birthday, he was quite ready to get up and simply leave the Dursley's. Once he got to the Burrow, he'd have more resources available. He'd have one brief, shining moment of normalcy before the time came to set out for Godric's Hollow.
Harry Potter was perhaps one of the most unusual young men in the neighbourhood. In fact, considering that he lived in Private Drive, the only person who might have even been considered for next-in-line to be weirdest would have been the cat-obsessed squib down the street, Mrs. Figg. Everything from his messy jet-black hair to his bright green eyes and gangly, knobbly form spoke wonders of unusual experiences. But it was the scar on his forehead that set him apart from everybody, even other wizards.
The scar, jagged like a bolt of lightening, had been there since October thirty-first, 1981, when Harry was little more than fifteen months old. A cursed mark given to him by the Dark Lord Voldemort, it had caused young Harry nothing short of strife in the less-than two decades he'd been alive. But now, as Harry stood on the line between the beginning and the end, it served as a reminder to all he had to do. His fate decided, Harry would spend the next several months searching for the missing pieces of Voldemort's soul.
He would spend the next several hours waiting for the seconds to tick away until he turned seventeen. Really, this was such a pointless thing to do. He could have been flipping through Hogwarts - A History for the umpteenth time as Hermione had advised him to do, or trying to remember why it might be useful to study for NEWTs even though he knew he'd never have the chance to take them. But he wasn't, and he wasn't, and he probably never would. Some bitter resolve had settled within him. Before the year was set, he would probably be dead.
Of course, Lord Voldemort would be with him, so the thought didn't bother Harry as much as it might have. Well, it did bother him, but he tried to ignore the desire to know life after war. He squashed any hopes of a future with Ginny at his side and Ron and Hermione there too by summoning up a feeling of extreme duty. By sitting there, day after day, hour after hour, minute after minute, reciting the same mantra over and over again in his head, Harry could pretend like nothing else existed.
The locket…the goblet…the snake…something of Gryffindor or Ravenclaw's…the locket…the goblet…the snake…something of Gryffindor or Ravenclaw's…the locket…
"Harry Potter! Get down here this instant!"
Harry jumped a good three feet off of his bed, scrambled into a standing position, and had his wand out faster than you could say the word "threat." His baggy trousers slipped down his waist several inches, and his raggedy grey shirt made him look like a scruffy hooligan. It took him a moment to realize that the voice had only been his aunt's. Breathing quicker than he should have been, Harry tucked his wand back away under his pillow and, hesitantly, made his way downstairs.
Aunt Petunia was sweeping the kitchen floor in a frenzied, hassled manner, as if something were bothering her greatly and she was trying to take her mind off of it. "Do the dishes," she snapped. Harry frowned and had the sudden urge to refuse. He didn't have to do anything for this woman, not anymore. He'd gone through enough hell as it was. But then it struck him just how petty that would have been. Washing dishes was nothing compared to battling Dark Lords.
And so he began filling the sink with water. It was just as easy to fall back into a mentality of nothingness as it would have been lying uselessly on his bed, and now at least he was doing something semi-productive. For about a half hour he and his aunt both worked on picking up the kitchen, saying nothing to each other. The animosity that had been there for sixteen years was still there, but quieter. Harry would be gone soon.
When Petunia could find nothing more to do in the kitchen, she moved on to the living room. Harry finished the dishes, dried his hands, and was about to go back upstairs when he passed the living room and noticed something rather odd. Aunt Petunia was not vacuuming, or dusting, or even watching TV. She was sitting at the foot of the couch, arms wrapped around her folded knees, and crying.
Intrigued, Harry hesitantly took a step away from the stairway and stood on the threshold. Aunt Petunia didn't seem to notice him, so he cautiously took another few steps into the room. By the time he'd reached her side, she still didn't realize he was there, so he knelt. "Aunt Petunia?" he asked.
Her head jerked up and her eyes narrowed when she saw him. But the desperation and fear in her expression was something he'd never seen before. The closest to this look he'd ever seen on her face was the summer before his fifth year, when he'd told her that Lord Voldemort had, indeed, returned. He wondered what could have possibly set her off this time.
"Go to your room," she demanded, but her small voice didn't really hold any conviction. Harry, balancing on the balls of his feet, shook his head. He could have sworn he heard her growl, although that would have been so absolutely uncharacteristic that he convinced himself it was simply his imagination. "This is your fault, isn't it? I don't want my baby to die."
Harry blinked, slowly, not quite sure what she meant by this. Was Dudley going to die? Shame, really, any coffin large enough to fit him would have cost more than a fortune. Harry blanched at this morbid thought, and shook his head clear of it. Even Dudley Dursley didn't deserve to die. "I don't think he will," Harry offered. "He'll probably kill somebody first," he mentally added, and berated himself for it. Dudley was a bully, a smoker, a lazy, spoiled brat, and had caused more than eleven years of Harry's life to be hell, but he wasn't a murderer.
"I've seen the news," Aunt Petunia whimpered pathetically. "I know that all those - all those killings are related to - to your kind." She might have well have said "freaks." Harry shuddered.
"Voldemort's not about to come to Little Whinging," Harry said, feeling confident about this one fact, at least. Voldemort would go where he thought Harry was, but with the blood protection the Dursleys gave Harry, he wouldn't be coming anywhere near Private Drive for quite some time. It only just struck Harry as odd to be sitting here, reassuring his aunt that Voldemort would never show up at Little Whinging, but really, what wasn't odd these days?
"How - how do you know? And even - even if h-he doesn't, Dudders is still out. And they're unprotected in London…c-completely unprotected from the f-freaks…" her shoulders convulsed as a sob wracked her body. "I don't - I don't want it t-to be like it was b-before!"
Harry sighed. He'd never been fond of the Dursleys, never liked them; heck, he loathed them, but he did owe his aunt something, if not Uncle Vernon as well. They'd hated him, resented his presence, blamed him for the unexplainable, and told him the most horrible lies about his family, but they had, after all, raised him. He'd never known love as a child, never known family, but at least he had known home. However unwelcome he was there.
"I don't owe Dudley anything," he said flatly, truthfully. "But I won't let him die at the hands of the bastard who killed my parents. He's safe, and so are you and Uncle Vernon. No wizard will ever hurt any one of you." Petunia tensed, and her eyes flashed angrily as if he had just uttered the most foul, disgusting word imaginable. He ignored this and stood up. "I'm leaving in a few hours. That's the last you'll see of my kind." That said, he looked her in the eye and spoke in the most serious, sombre voice as any he'd ever used. "I promise."
He went back into his room and glanced at the clock. Ten thirty had come and gone, and now the red letters glared accusingly. He'd be seventeen in less than fifteen minutes. It was time to pack. So he did, and within a few short moments, all of his old school books, ratty clothes, and tattered belongings had made their way semi-neatly into his trunk.
Midnight rolled around. Nothing happened. Harry felt no different than he had before, not that he'd expected to. He grabbed his wand, charmed the trunk so it would be light-weight and invisible, and threw his invisibility cloak over himself. With that, he walked back down the stairs. Petunia was still in the living room, arms around her knees and eyes staring unseeingly at nothing.
"Thanks," said Harry shortly. She jumped, stared at him as if seeing through the invisibility cloak, and blinked.
"Good bye," she said, and went back to brooding.
Harry found himself at the end of Number Four only a few moments later, his trunk conveniently forgotten (yet still following him), and his eyes scanning the area for any sign of Remus Lupin. Harry had hardly expected to find his old professor just hanging around Private Drive, but he still kept a close eye on the shadows that dwelt within corners, aware that any moment he might come across the docile werewolf.
But as the minutes passed on, he wondered if perhaps he had been mistaken, if maybe, just maybe, he had misread something in Hermione's letter. But he was so sure, so positive, because he had committed the letter to memory - not out of any particular need to remember the words, but out of a need to do something - and the words were emblazed in his mind's eye.
I'm really, really sorry Harry, but I told Professor Lupin what you're doing. He's going to meet you at Private Drive and catch the Knight Bus with you. Like I said, I'm really, really sorry, but it's for your own good.
Harry's steady footsteps stopped as he finally came to the house in Wisteria Walk where he'd first spotted his godfather, Sirius. He stared at the garage door for a long moment, as if hoping to see some flash from the past. A large black dog, perhaps, which could be easily mistaken as a grim, would have made Harry smile. As it were, though, he had nothing to stare at but a blank white door. And so, worried slightly at Lupin's absence, he took his wand and muttered, "Lumos!" under his breath. The light from his wand flooded onto the street, and not two seconds later there was a resounding BANG!
Harry stumbled a few feet backwards when the large triple-decker, violently purple bus came to a halt before him. The doors jolted open and a young witch stepped out, a faux grin on her large, plump face.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Alice Kensington, and I will be your conductor this evening."
It took Harry a moment to remember why this wasn't Stan Shunpike greeting him. However, as soon as he recalled the conversation he had had with the Ministry of Magic himself, Rufus Scrimgeour, he felt a surge of anger slice through his chest. "I want to go to the village of Ottery St. Catchpole," he said shortly. The woman, Alice, did a double take and her smile faltered.
"That'll be eleven sickles if-"
Harry took a handful of silver from his pocket and shoved it in her hand. Then, realizing just exactly how rude he was being, he quickly apologized. "I'm sorry," he said, "I know Stan Shunpike. It isn't your fault." A sad smile came to her face and she directed him aboard. As soon as Harry got on the bus, he spotted Lupin sitting on a bed in the back, looking distinctly ruffled and exhausted.
"Whatever happened to you meeting me at Private Drive?" Harry asked, a bit irked as he sat down on the bed next to Lupin's. The former defence teacher looked just as shabby and tired as ever, the full moon having been only a few days ago. Aside from that, though, he seemed oddly subdued, quiet even for his normal self. Lupin smiled, and opened his mouth as if to answer, but then his hand shot out and grasped the pole next to his bed.
With a resounding BANG the Knight Bus shot off, and the beds slid. Harry only just in time managed to grab hold of the pole at the end of his bed, barely avoiding a head-on collision with the back end of the bus. Sharp turns that jolted everybody aboard made it impossible to talk, or even think about it for that matter, and Harry only just barely managed to stay atop his lumpy sheets.
Looking out the window, Harry saw a truck jump out of the way, and several mailboxes shrink back in apparent fear of the mad vehicle. Apparently, the Knight Bus could make even inanimate objects fear for their existence. Finally getting used to the movement, Harry blinked slowly and looked back at Lupin, who looked vaguely ill. He pursed his thin lips and met Harry's gaze. A sad, weary smile spread across Lupin's features.
"I was coming to Private Drive," he said, sounding just as exhausted as he looked, "but you boarded before we got there."
"Why didn't you just apparate?" asked Harry, gripping his pole tightly as a particularly nasty jerk nearly threw him to the floor. Up front, a baby started wailing.
"Haven't you - haven't you been reading the paper, Harry?" he asked, clearly startled. "They've taken the right to apparate from non-human entities." He sounded casual, but Harry could hear resentment hidden beneath his nonchalance. He felt yet another surge of anger at the memory of the newly-instated Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, who had recently asked Harry to support the Ministry.
"And Scrimgeour wanted me to say the Ministry was doing a good job," he said bitterly. He looked down the bus to where Alice was sitting, ready and alert, and his scowl deepened.
Lupin didn't say anything to that, and they remained silent throughout the rest of the trip. However, it wasn't quite as long as it should have been, and when they stopped outside of the Leaky Cauldron, Lupin stood and gestured for Harry to come with him. Surprised, Harry did just that. When they had made their way to the front of the bus, Harry's trunk behind them, Alice gave Harry a very curious look.
"Aren't you going to the village of Ottery St. Catchpole?" she asked suspiciously.
"I thought I was," he said.
"But he isn't," Lupin clarified. "For all your trouble." He pulled out a small pouch from his pocket and handed Alice a few more sickles. She frowned deeply before accepting the silver hesitantly.
"Well then, goodbye Mr. Lupin, Mr.-"
"Goodbye," said Lupin, hurrying Harry off the bus. With a BANG it had shot off down the street. "People should know better than to address you by your name in public," he muttered, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry let himself be steered into the dank pub before speaking.
"I thought we were going to the Burrow."
"We are, Harry," said Lupin vaguely. "But the floo network will be easier than the front door." He nodded at Tom the innkeeper, who looked rather sad to see that he didn't have any customers this evening. Harry wondered why the man was up so late, that is, until he spoke.
"You hear?"
"Howls," answered Lupin dryly.
Tom turned to Harry. "What d'you hear when a dementor comes near?"
Harry looked up at Lupin, wary of answering a question like that. "My parents' deaths," he said, trying to speak without any emotion. This wasn't the entire answer, but Harry was smart enough to figure out what this was, and Lupin had probably told Tom that this would be the answer earlier on.
"Deepest desire?" said Lupin.
Tom grinned. "To lose my shoes."
Harry blinked at this bizarre exchange, and Tom hustled out of the room, coming back with a black pouch. He handed it to Lupin, who took a pinch of floo powder from the bag and turned to Harry. "You'll go first," he said. Harry took a pinch for himself and nodded, stepping into the dirty, empty fireplace that stood behind Tom's bar.
"The Burrow!" he said clearly, dropping the powder before him. With a flare of emerald green flames, Harry was spinning uncontrollably. He held his elbows in and closed his eyes tight. Floo was one of his least-preferred methods of travel. That and portkeys.
"Harry!" Upon falling out of the fire place and nearly toppling over, Harry found himself embraced in Mrs. Weasley's arms. She hugged him tightly and looked him over. "Oh my dear," she said worriedly, "you do look thin! Would you like something to eat?"
Harry brushed the soot off of him and shook his head. It was late; he wasn't hungry. "No thank you, Mrs. Weasley," he said. He had only just managed to get far enough away from the grate when Lupin came stumbling in, looking particularly worn now that he was covered in soot.
"Perhaps you should get some sleep now, Harry," said Lupin, brushing himself off. He and Mrs. Weasley exchanged a look, and with that, Mrs. Weasley decided that it was time for Harry to sleep.
"There's still a spot in Ronald's room, dear," she said.
Harry nodded. "Good night Mrs. Weasley, good night prof-"
"Remus," Lupin said.
"Good night, Remus," Harry corrected awkwardly. With that, he turned and began to ascend up the rickety stairs of the Burrow. Now was the start of his brief week or so of peace, and he wanted it to pass slowly. So his feet trudged across the ground and he moved without urgency. By the time he finally made it to Ron's room, at least ten minutes had passed since saying goodnight to Lupin and Mrs. Weasley. He opened the door quietly and found himself looking into the most welcome, familiar sight he could ever imagine.
Ron and Hermione were both awake, talking quietly on the floor. When Hermione saw Harry, she squealed, softly of course, and shot up. Harry was confronted with a mass of bushy brown hair as she squeezed the breath out of his lungs.
"Oh, Harry, it's great to see you," she said.
"Hey, Harry," said Ron behind her. He looked slightly annoyed with something, but was smiling all the same. When Hermione let go of Harry, the annoyance disappeared entirely from Ron's face. The trio sat down on the floor in a triangle.
"How have you been?" Hermione asked, looking worried.
"I'm fine," Harry replied sincerely. "Just the same as when you left a week ago. I know how to take care of myself." He grinned jokingly and Hermione flushed.
"Of course you do, Harry," she said, "it's just that, well, we worry about you."
"Yeah, mate," said Ron, "'lots happened since last week, hasn't it?"
Harry wasn't sure he knew what they were talking about. He hardly ever read the papers anymore, seeing as how he'd spent most of his time lying in his bedroom, doing nothing. He felt distinctly out of the loop, and he didn't have anybody to blame it on but himself. "What's happened?" he asked.
"Oh, Harry, it's dreadful," Hermione began. "The Ministry has taken away so many rights from 'non-human entities', and Professor Lupin is included in that. And then there were the Brown murders," she hesitated. "Poor Lavender. She wrote me after it happened - she never writes me, mind you - and she says she won't be able to go to Hogwarts next year, her father is so worried!"
"But they shouldn't worry," said Ron, sounding a bit angry. "They're closing Hogwarts! Can you believe it? The one place that's safe and they're closing it!"
The mood turned for the worse after this, and by the time they had fallen awkwardly silent, trying not to mention Dumbledore even though that was exactly where they'd come in the conversation, the clock struck two am. Hermione jumped up with a gasp.
"Oh, we really should get some sleep, you two," she said. Harry yawned and nodded his agreement.
"Yeah," said Ron, also yawning. "Dad's taking us to have our apparation exams in a few days; I reckon we should be rested by then." He grimaced at the mention of apparating, and, with that, they all resorted to their respective beds (or, in Hermione's case, bedroom).
"Goodnight, Harry," Ron said after awhile.
"Goodnight, Ron."
Chapter two preview: Birthday parties, awkwardness between Harry and Ginny, apparation exams and…THE SUSPENUSE 0.0 IT'S MIND BOOGLING! (If you got that, I love you trillions! If you didn't, I still love you!)