Universal Darkness

Chapter 1: Dilemma in Hogsmeade

By Paper Dork

Disclaimer: In no way, shape or form does Harry Potter, and its numerous characters belong to me. They will always belong to the talented JK Rowling.

----

There comes a time in a young man's life where the weight of the world, and all its numerous responsibilities become just a little too much to bare. Harry Potter, the bloody Boy-Who-Lived felt it was his time to throw a fit about the complete and utter lack of fairness that the world brought him.

It wasn't so much that he hated his Fifth Year at Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft, and Wizardry. He was having a small bit of fun, despite the fact that Snape was being even more of an insufferable git as before, and he was also barred from playing Quidditch for the rest of the year. He could even tolerate the fact that Cho Chang burst into tears, and blubbered like a ninny whenever he was around. Hell, he could even take the fact that over half the school, half of the entire wizard community, thought he was insane; a raving, psychopathic lunatic.

All his misery, the source of his need to throw a temper tantrum as if he was five years old, stemmed from one toad like woman. Umbridge.

Dolores Umbridge, High Inquisitor of Hogwarts, and currently the worst Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in history. A Voldemort infected Quirrel was loads better than the pudgy, frog faced Umbridge. Harry would proclaim without a doubt that he loathed the woman with a burning passion.

"That wretched woman," Harry scowled, glaring at the cover to his four poster bed. Idly, he traced the words 'I shall not tell lies' that was permanently branded into the back of his hand, recalling his most recent detention with the frog turned human. He'd barely gotten the sentence, "But Voldemort is back!" out before Umbridge had slammed her hamburger sized fist down on her desk with a crack, and calmly stated that he would be joining her that night for yet another detention.

Harry let out a colorful curse, and thumped his clenched hands on top of his comforter. Why was everyone so blind to the truth? Had he not come back clutching the cold, lifeless body of Cedric Diggory after the last task?

And for Fudge to go as far as to believe Dumbledore, a wizard without a mean bone in his body, wanted nothing more than to dethrone him from his precious position as the Minister of Magic? Voldemort must have cast a stupidity spell over the whole of Britain because no other excuse could explain everyone's blatant ignorance.

Harry rolled onto his stomach, and let out an exasperated sigh into his pillow case. The whole situation was giving him a pounding headache; a headache that began a week ago, and had grown in volume every day. He placed the blame for this solely on Umbridge's gruesome shoulders.

Sinking into the soothing embrace of his mattress, Harry willed his headache away from the night, and slipped into a dreamless sleep.

-----

"If you can keep your mouth shut the entire class, Harry, I'll buy you all the Butter beer you want next Hogsmeade trip," Ronald Weasley whispered from his seat next to Harry, his lips pressed into a thin line of worry. "I don't think our House can take losing anymore points."

Harry snorted, and flipped his book open to the appropriate page as the Devil herself waddled into the room, and caught the attention of everyone in the class with her classical, "Hem, hem."

Umbridge daintily plopped down in her chair, and tented her fingers on the desk. "Open your books to Chapter Five, and read it for the duration of the class. If you finish early remain seated, and quiet. Begin now."

Books snapped open, and covers slapped against the desk tops as students groaned, and loomed over their books. Hermione flipped through the pages in her book, having already finished the book months ago. Ron gazed at his book passively, lips moving silently as he eye's skimmed over the pages with a soft of detached interest. Harry doubted he was even reading as five minutes later, he was on the same page.

Harry slouched back, and folded his arms across his chest. He may have to take the class, but he refused to participate in any shape or form. His headache returned tenfold as he found himself glaring holes into Umbridge's expanse of a forehead. If only she'd fall ill enough to leave, or better yet, drop dead. As soon as she's gone, things will be right again.

As if she could sense his vicious thoughts, Umbridge turned her critical gaze to him. Her beady little eyes narrowed into indistinguishable slits, and her lips curled into a sneer. "You must be quite the fast reader, Mister Potter. Finished with Chapter Five already, are you?"

Harry bristled, and curled his fingers against the smooth wood desk. She was baiting him with her lips pulled into a sickly sweet smile as the rest of the class raised their heads to watch the action unfold; she wanted him to give her another excuse to punish him. Filthy old hag!

Ron elbowed him in the side, muttering something that vaguely sounded like, "Don't do anything stupid, Harry."

Umbridge had challenged him, and who was he to deny her a fight? "Book work won't stand up against Voldemort once he decides to attack," he responded, mirroring Umbridge's smile. "Unless knocking him over the head with a book can kill him, that is." Ron groaned in defeat beside him, and buried a hand in his hair.

Umbridge pseudo smile fell off her face like a load of bricks, and was replaced by a furious scowl. "I warned you about the consequences of lying, Mister Potter. Twenty points from Gryffindor, and another week's detention to add onto last weeks."

Some of the Gryffindor's roared in protest while the remainder stayed in their seats. Harry rose, his palms flat along his desk. "You're leaving us blind when Voldemort could attack any second. Why are you so determined to deny the truth?" Harry shouted with a wince as his scar began to throb, adding to the increasing pain from his head.

She regarded him, studying him with contempt, and a vibrant trace of fear in her merciless eyes. She rested her chin on her tented fingers, and snorted in reply, "Because they're nothing but lies from an attention seeking student."

Like a taunt rubber band, Harry's rage snapped to the forefront of his mind. "How could—what is WRONG with you?" he sputtered, his jaw slack. "People are going to die!"

When Umbridge merely shook her head as if she was dealing with a toddler during a temper tantrum, he saw red. A fine tremor settled over his body, and he had to keep his teeth clenched to keep them from chattering. She's as bad as the Death Eater. How could Dumbledore appoint such a person as a teacher?

"Harry!" Hermione cried out in surprise, and jumped up from her seat. She rushed around the desk separating them, and grabbed him by the shoulders. Concern and fear was etched so deeply in her face it startled him. "Your scar, it's bleeding!"

The red from his vision faded away, and a strange calm settled over his body. It was only then that he felt the warm trickle of blood sliding down his forehead, and cheek. "Is it?" he mumbled before his conscious thoughts dimmed, and he fell back into welcoming darkness.

-----

"Harry!" Hermione shouted, and bolted from her chair the second she saw blood begin to seep from his scar. She clamped both hands onto his shoulders in a death grip, and pivoted him to face her. "Your scar, it's bleeding!"

His eyes glazed over, and an almost relieved smile crossed his pale lips. "Is it?" he whispered to her dreamily. His eyelids drooped shut as his body went slack, and he tumbled backwards. Hermione cried out, and reached to get a better grip on him, but her fingers passed through air.

She stumbled, barely catching her own feet beneath her as she struggled not to fall. Gasps of shock resounded through the room as everyone scrambled to sneak a peek at the space where Harry Potter's body should have been.

"Hermione, w-where'd Harry go?" Ron stammered, coming around to her right side.

She clenched, and unclenched her fingers, staring wide-eyed at the air where Harry's body vanished. "He just vanished… he disappeared."

-----

Harry never realized before how much it hurt to be awake when you hit the ground. Of all the times he'd fallen off his broom, he'd been unconscious when he hit the floor; minus the time when he tumbled head over heels off his broom with the snitch in his mouth.

With a hiss, he lifted his body up from the grass that stuck to his skin, and made every inch of his exposed flesh itch. Bloody Hell, Harry. Will your life ever be normal? He growled in thought, gently settling back on his rump with whine as new pains were made known. His right shoulder ached, and his wrist on the same arm stung something fierce. I must have landed on it. With all the luck I have, I'm surprised I didn't break it.

His glasses were intact, a small miracle all on its own. The butt end of his wand dug painfully into his hip, and for once he was grateful that he had remembered to stick it into his pants pocket in stead of his school bag. It wouldn't have done him any good to be out in the middle of nowhere wandless.

With care, he retrieved his glasses from the grass and returned them to their rightful place on his nose. The world slid into focus, though there wasn't much to see. Illuminated in the dim starlight was a field of some sorts, the grass coming up to about his shoulder as he sat. About twenty feet in each direction trees sprang up from the ground, creating a U shaped perimeter with an open window at the end that lead out to towering mountains in the distance. How in God's name did I get here? Last he'd checked, he'd been getting yelled at by Umbridge in DADA.

He stood with minimal discomfort, the grass now up to his hip. I bet that hag sent me here to teach me a 'lesson'. I wouldn't put it past her. Hobbling a bit, Harry set off toward the mountains, hoping to find a road, or some sign of civilization. Umbridge couldn't have sent him to far he wagered. It was only a matter of time before he found someone. Hermione would have scolded him for such thinking, but he didn't have a lot of options, and he was never the one to be admired for his patience.

Soon the aches across his body subsided, and he quickened his pace as an all too familiar cobblestone street appeared over the crest of a small hill. This is one of the roads leading into Hogsmeade, I know it. Guess that wicked old bat didn't send me very far after all. Now with a spring in his step, Harry broke into an all out run as he raced toward the cozy wizarding town.

Torch lights blazed in the distance like individual beacons of hope, and they grew in brilliance as he slowed to a walk upon entering the village. The streets were mostly deserted, and the pubs were open while the less shady shops were closed. All he needed now was a fireplace, and some floo powder, and everything would be okay. He guessed he could even get back with enough time to finish his Potions essay, and get a good nights rest.

A door creaked open to his right, and the owner of Zonko's Joke Shop stepped out, tapping the doorknob with his wand to lock it after easing it shut. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, and approached the man. Timidly, he tapped him on the shoulder to grab his attention. "Excuse me, sire. Where's the closest fireplace connected to the Floo Network?"

The man pocketed his wand before turning. "There should be one in the…" The man's voice trailed off into a whimper as the smile on his face dropped to be replaced by a fearful frown. "H-Harry Potter?" he chocked out, his hand going right back to his wand.

Harry crinkled his brow, and cocked his head to the side. "Yes, I'm Harry Potter. Now where is the fireplace? I need to get back to Hogwarts."

The man stepped back, his face awash with fright. "P-Please, don't kill me!" he screamed before he dropped everything in his hands, and bolted away from the door, and down the street, wailing at the top of his lungs, "Harry Potter's here! The Death Eater's are attacking!"

Harry watched him go, his brow raised in bewilderment. "What was that about?" He cast a glance over his shoulder, half expecting to be greeted by the black robes, and white masks of the infamous Death Eater's of Voldemort. There was nothing except a closed candy store. He shook his head, and turned to follow in the direction the man fled. He'd obviously run that way to find the comfort of other wizards, and where there were others, there was a fireplace.

"Stupefy!"

Harry, on instinct and pure dumb luck, ducked, and rolled to the left, narrowly dodging the brilliant red streak that ripped through the air where he'd been standing moments before. "What the hell?" He sat up in a crouch, and swiveled his head around to identify his assailant.

Five wands were pointed in his direction, each being held in the white knuckle grip of an Auror. "Harry Potter," the closest one boomed, his voice dripped with disgust, and loathing. "You are here by under arrest for the murder of countless muggles, wizards, and witches along with many other felons as a Death Eater of Lord Voldemort. Resistance if futile."

Harry gulped, and shuddered beneath the man's withering gaze. Well Harry, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore.

------

End Chapter One.

Okay, I haven't written fan fiction for a long, long time. Sorry if this totally blows Buckbeak's balls or something like that. Oh yeah, and I'm in desperate need of a beta reader for this fic. Anyone interested in lending a hand?