To Walk Through Fire
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and the characters associated with him. They belong to J.K. Rowling. I am not making money off of this story. So please don't sue.
Chapter XI: Discoveries
Percy walked into the kitchen. It would have been a lovely night, had there not been so many terrible things going on. His world seemed to be falling apart. Not only that, there seemed to be no way that he could bring it back together, everything was out of control. Everything that he had taken for granted had changed. His whole life had been turned upside down. His family was changing, every single one of them was determined to find someway to free Harry from Azkaban. It was almost as if they all had one track minds. Even Fred and George had stopped their antics. Hermione, who had become a part of the family no longer spent hours studying like he'd seen her do in the library. Ron barely looked at his wizarding cards, and was unable to tell anyone what was going on in Quidditch.
Not only had his family life completely changed, but his work as well. The people and the routines were the same, but something seemed different. Everyone was worried. Worried that the attacks commissioned by Sirius Black were only the beginning. That the worst was yet to come. The fact that the Ministry was divided did not help any matters. For the first time Percy had seen the division that had been created in the Ministry. A wide chasm that separated those who believed Min – No Percy would no longer see him as a Minister – Fudge could solve any problems, and those who believed that Fudge was incapable of dealing with the current problems.
Percy Weasley finally saw the weakness and corruption of the Ministry. He disliked his work now. Before he had been totally oblivious to any of this. He had liked following his orders and doing something to help the world. But now . . .He had been following a corrupt Minister who did nothing for the wizarding world, but only for himself. Percy felt sickened by that fact. Why couldn't everything be back to normal? Why couldn't it be as if should have been? That was not what was happening and Percy knew he should stop wishing for something that was never going to happen.
Percy sighed.
He would have to go back there again tomorrow, as much as he wished not to. His father had convinced him of that last night after he had arrived home. After declaring that he would no longer work for the Ministry and that he found his family more important than the Ministry, Arthur had told him that he needed to go back to work. He had been stunned beyond words; actually his mind had gone completely blank when his father said that. His dad had been urging him to leave the Ministry and join his family, and now he was told to go back to work! But then he had realized that he could influence a change in the Ministry that would help everyone. He could refuse to sign documents, or he could sign documents that Fudge would never want to be signed. It had sounded like a good idea at the time.
That was until he had gone to work. As soon as he arrived, Min – no, Fudge – had given him a whole pile of letters about Harry's imprisonment onto his desk, telling him to deal with them. It had been one of the most difficult things he had ever had to do. The worst had been when he had found letters that had agreed with Fudge's actions. Percy had wanted to burn those, to send a reply berating them for their cruelty. But that would have caused more problems. Instead he had sent them very concise notes telling them that Fudge had thought it the best course of action. There had been far more of those letters than the ones asking for Harry's freedom. And that had sickened him.
Now he knew the true influence that Fudge had on the people. If he told them all to jump off bridge most of the wizarding world would do so without question.
To those few who had written letters asking for Harry's freedom, Percy had given them what little comfort he could. To many of them he had responded by hinting to go to Albus Dumbledore. His old headmaster would know what to do with all those truly willing to help. He had almost been tempted to tell them to raid Azkaban and break Harry free. It would have been very unwise though, Percy had a feeling that the people needed to be united in order to defeat the evil that threatened the world. Whether it was Sirius Black, or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named back from the dead, as Harry claimed. If the world was to face another Dark Lord they needed to be united, not squabbling amongst themselves.
He had thought that was the worst part of the day, answering all those letters, that was until his father had come running into his office showing him the newspaper.
Azkaban had been raided. The once impregnable fortress had fallen into the hands of Death Eaters. Not only that but Harry Potter himself was held within those walls and would now be in the hands of the heartless followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. At their mercy Harry would not survive long. They would torture him. And if what his family believed was true, that You-Know-Who was really alive – he was! – then Percy hoped that Harry had died before anyone had even had a chance to touch him, as cruel as it was, it would have been more merciful than having the poor boy tortured by his worst enemy. It made him shudder to think what they could do to the poor boy. He had never seen any torture himself, but the whispered stories that those who remembered the time when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was at the peak of his power, gave him nightmares.
Unfortunately he had been unable to leave the office to comfort his family. Fudge had walked in dropping more papers on his desk. In order to keep the man believing that he was loyal, Percy had been forced to stay and finish the paper work.
Now all he wanted to do was drop on the couch and forget everything that had happened in the last week – no, the last year. The attack on the World Cup had been the beginning of it all. That was when the Death Eaters had started their rise to power.
Suddenly a snowy owl, the one that had been staying at the house for days, flew into the room. She settled herself onto the back of a chair and hooted urgently to him. Percy untied the letter from around the owl's leg and looked at the sheet of paper for a name. It was addressed to no one. Both curious and apprehensive, he unfolded the parchment.
The words that lay scrawled upon the paper in black ink chilled his blood. All the blood drained away from his face and he felt his knees collapse. He hit the floor with a bang, but his numb body was incapable of feeling the floor. All he could do was stare at the letter.
How?
The words reverberated in his mind. How was it possible? It all seemed like a dream. First The Boy Who Lived had been imprisoned and now he was dead.
Percy couldn't believe it. It was a lie, a trick that some cruel Death Eater thought to play on them.
But no it couldn't be. It was signed by Albus Dumbledore, and it had not been forged, Percy knew the headmaster's writing better than anyone.
Percy dreaded telling his family this. He couldn't even imagine their reactions. It would have been crueler for him to hide the letter away and to read it in the paper the next morning. At least this way they would know it was the truth, and not another rumor. It was cruel how Albus had not come and revealed to the news in them in person. But the man was very busy between setting everything up for the new school year, keeping Fudge partially in line, and keeping an eye on the Death Eaters. Still it would have been nice.
Percy hollered up the stairs calling everyone down to the kitchen.
They didn't trust him. The thought suddenly hit him. His family did not trust him very much. They would think this was a big hoax. Or that he had been keeping it all day away from them. They would hate him even more.
Percy quickly dispelled his thoughts. It would be no use to torment himself. He had already called his family down, it was too late to set the letter on the table and pretend that he had never read it. he heard several sets of footsteps coming down the stairs. At every clunk he felt his heart beat faster. They would hate him after this. Reject him. Percy did not know if he could stand that. Even when he was a baby his family had been there to look after him and support him. Despite all their differences he knew that his family loved him. But now . . .
Now it would completely tear his world apart. One word from his parents, and the world as he knew it would end.
The clunks on the stairs stopped. Percy looked up at his red-headed family, and their friend Hermione, who surrounded him, looking as if they all had been trying to sleep.
He took a deep breath and steeled his reserve. "I . . .When I came home . . .An owl delivered this . . .It wasn't addressed to anyone, I didn't mean any harm by opening it, I thought . . .It says that . . .that . . ." Percy's throat tightened and he found that he was unable to continue. It was as if saying it out loud made it true. As if the nightmare would become reality if he said those words. Despite the fact that he had tried to school himself, he felt tears drip from his eyes. He silently handed the letter to his father, who took it cautiously.
Percy stood there, not bothering to wipe the tears that decorated his cheeks. Not only the idea that he would be rejected by his family spurred those tears to fall. But also the fact that Harry Potter was truly dead. He had known the boy, quite well in fact. Harry had been nothing but kind to him, he had even been polite when Percy had babbled on about his caldrons. Now he was gone. The idea hit Percy suddenly. Harry was gone. They would never see him again.
He looked up at his parents. His father had gone completely pale, and his mother had collapsed into her husband's arms sobbing, as if it was truly her child whom had died. Hermione and Ginny were clutching each other crying over the loss of their friend. Friend and George were still studying the letter as if it held some secret that needed to be revealed. Ron was glaring at him. At all of them.
"IT ISN"T TRUE!!!" He shouted angrily, shocking everyone. "Harry wouldn't die on us! He's still alive, I know he is. Dumbledore just thinks he's dead! I DON"T BELIEVE IT! And I won't until Dumbledore comes and tells me himself!"
"Ron . . ." Molly began softly.
"He's not dead!" Ron growled. He ran upstairs, away from the curious stares of his family.
No one said anything to contradict him. They all hoped that it was the truth. Although from their eyes, Percy could tell that they all knew that what was written on that piece of paper was the truth.
***************
He hurt. There was no way for him to pinpoint the pain. He hurt everywhere.
And he was cold. The cold seemed to seep into his bones, clawing into them.
His body did not even have the grace to go numb.
But he deserved it. He deserved the pain.
The thought hit him suddenly. He ignored it. No one deserved this kind of pain, no one . . .well maybe Voldemort.
NO!
He had . . .done something wrong. He couldn't remember what. And that worried him more than the pain did.
His mind was going.
He could not even remember what his name was.
A shiver ran through his body, sending Greek fire through his veins.
Some instinct, that existed in every human, pushed away his guilt. He had to survive. He had no idea why he would want to survive, his body just knew that it had to live. Painfully he bent down and pulled the wand out of his pant leg where it had lain hidden since . . .he couldn't remember how long it had been there. Only that the guards at Azkaban had not noticed it. Not that they had checked.
"Lumos." He muttered. The wand lit up brightly, faintly giving off heat. He cuddled around it, if only to warm himself up a bit.
No one would come and rescue him. He knew that. Why would they? No one . . .Yes someone had helped him. That strange man, whoever he was. He had helped rescue him from Azkaban. The man wouldn't come rescue him a second time. It was too much to ask.
He needed to find the way back to . . . where could he go? Was there someone out there who would help him? Probably not. No one helped . . .dangerous criminals. That's what he was, wasn't he? That's why he had been in Azkaban in the first place.
He groaned. It was costing too much energy to even think. Even as he felt the heat dissipate from his wand, blackness over took him.
***************
The forest floor was soft under his paws, padded from years of fallen plants. The moon shone brightly overhead revealing the shadowy trees that surrounded them. He could hear his friend running beside him, the powerful paws crushing the delicate plant life. It was almost a perfect night. If he imagine hard enough he could almost see the two missing Marauders follow along behind them. Prongs with his antlers gracefully dancing under the tree branches, and Wormtail scampering over logs that lay in his path.
Almost.
Worry still plagued him. His son was still out there. Alone. In danger. If only . . .if only what? He hadn't had a son? No he would not trade Harry for anything. Despite that he had never had a chance to know his son, he still loved the boy. And he felt helpless to do anything. How could he help the boy? True his link to Harry would help them track his son, but what if they weren't able to get there on time? What if the Ministry found him before Sirius did? What if . . .There were too many possibilities.
His friend nipped playfully at him, calling him back to himself. The night was still young, and those thoughts would only make it seem longer than it truly was. Tomorrow they would find Harry and everything would be all right.
Maybe he could even tell his son the truth.
No. That was too much to hope for. It would be best if Harry never knew the truth. Never knew that an innocent convict was his father. It would be better if his son still saw James as his father, a good Quidditch player and an excellent role model. Still it would have been nice to hear Harry call him – No! It was not possible; it would tear the boy apart if he knew the truth. As much as it tore him apart it was better if he kept silent. If Harry ever found out . . .
Sirius shook his head. He couldn't allow that to happen. He forced himself to focus on his surroundings. The trees were shadows that reached for him; their crooked fingers stretching out to grabbed him . . .Just like the white hands of the dementors had. Reaching, stretching . . .
He gave a soft whimper that stopped Moony. The werewolf looked at him curiously, his head slightly crooked as if he wondered what Padfoot had been thinking. The shaggy black dog looked at his friend. The only way to distract his friend would be to play with him. Hopefully Remus would not remember what had happened when he transformed. Padfoot did not think he could stand any more of his friend's pity or generosity; Remus had done enough for him already. Although the werewolf claimed that he had done nothing. They both knew that wasn't true.
He swallowed his worries for the moment. Playfully he attacked Moony, just like he had done when they were in Hogwarts together. Moony snapped playfully back at him and danced away from his gleaming teeth. Padfoot dashed at his friend, twisting gracefully to avoid the lycanthrope's heavy paw. As soon as he dashed under his friend's guard, Padfoot snapped playfully at his neck. Moony, not to be outdone, quickly turned his head and growled playfully. Using the brute strength that only werewolf's had, Moony pushed Padfoot over. Quickly avoiding the werewolf's mouth, Padfoot rolled over and dashed into the woods.
He was fast. He could hear his friend catching up. The only thing on his mind was outrunning the werewolf, all other thoughts were banished. He dashed playfully around the trees, turning at the strangest moments. He turned, once, and almost smacked right into a tree that stood tall it his path. He managed to avoid it, just barely. The tree's arms yanked fur painfully from his back. He winced as he heard a yelp from Moony as the werewolf, unable to quickly maneuver his way around the tree crashed into it. When he turned around to help his friend, Moony had nearly caught up to him. He continued to run haphazardly through the forest, his friend right behind him.
Padfoot ran frenzied into the woods, the euphoria of the night taking a hold of him. He did not notice when the trees ripped the fur off his back as he had before. The only thought that entered his mind was to run, and keep running. Faster and faster. Not even Moony could keep up with him. He could hear the werewolf's feet squish the soft forest floor just behind him. His keen hearing picking up what he would never hear as a human. He did not stop. He could not. He could not think.
No.
He ran haphazardly down paths long forgotten by any of the wildlife who roamed the forest. Not even the Marauders had wandered this part of the Forbidden Forest. If Moony had known where they were going, he would have told Padfoot to stop and knocked some sense into his friend. However his friend was unaware of where they were going and he cared only for the game at the moment. Neither of them expected what was coming.
Before him, Padfoot could see a clearing in the trees. He ran towards it, not knowing exactly why, his instincts making him move even faster towards the clearing. Just as he reached the middle of the clearing a familiar scent assailed him. No, not a familiar scent, a whole bunch of familiar scents, assailed him. One of them made him shudder. He felt cold to the bone, and the nightmares that had been haunting him came roaring into his consciousness. Padfoot froze, his wild carefree mood destroyed. That scent could have only been from one place, from Azkaban. It had permeated the walls and guards of that place. Padfoot didn't have very much time to dwell on the scent, for Moony rammed playfully into him. He rolled over in the grass, and his keen nose caught another scent, intertwined within the smell of Azkaban. It was the strong sent of a human in fear and pain. He whimpered softly. That scent had been there recently, and whoever had just been there was in danger from the werewolf. What if it was Harry? Padfoot quickly dismissed that idea, although it never truly left his mind.
Padfoot ignored his companion, who had run off into the woods realizing that his friend had not wanted to play. Padfoot began to follow the trail of scent. The faint hope that it could be Harry gave him all the reason possible for him to follow the trail. He hoped that whoever it was, currently was safely away from the werewolf.
He wished had had followed the werewolf so he could save the poor innocent human from Moony if they did meet up.
All he could do now was hope that Moony was off chasing a rabbit. The werewolf had headed in the wrong direction anyways.
Following the trail was very slow at first, but soon Padfoot was able to start running through the forest after it.
He knew that he was getting closer and closer, with every footstep he took. He looked up, his blue eyes shining in the moonlight. There through the trees he could spot the figure of his run-away companion, exactly the same place where the trail was headed . . .
Sirius ran towards his friend barking frantically. It seemed to take an eternity to reach the werewolf. Even as he approached him, Padfoot could see his friend lean towards a dark figure on the ground. His mouth opened slightly.
Bunching his legs beneath him, Padfoot flew towards his friend, throwing the lycanthrope over the small shadowy form on the ground. Moony stood up and growled at Padfoot, his hackles raised. Padfoot growled back at his friend, standing protectively over the dark huddled figure on the ground.
The friends glared at one another, neither willing to back down; Padfoot refused to let his friend hurt another human – who possibly could be Harry . . . And Moony refused to give up his catch.
Padfoot did not want to leave the human alone to go chasing Moony away, there were too many scenarios that could turn out deadly that way. Moony could turn around and return to the human, or they might never find him again or . . .No, there were too many possibilities. His best chance was to stay there and guard the human until Moony either grew board, or transformed back into human form.
Sirius knew that, despite the fact his friend was in his canine form, Moony would not attack him. The black "grim" and the werewolf had spent too much time together to actually attack one another.
The large carnivore stopped growling, tilted his head as if he heard something of interest and loped off disappearing into the trees like a shadow in the dark. Even as his friend disappeared Padfoot let out a sigh of relief. Moony would go as far away from here as he possibly could. The logical human part of the werewolf would force him to do that. Perhaps he would find a rabbit to play with, or a squirrel. Or even better, a rat . . .
Changing into his human form, Sirius bent down to examine the human, who's life he had just saved. He pulled out his wand and muttered a spell causing the tip of his wand to light up. The figure before him was curled up around something, almost protectively. Sirius bent down and checked the boy's – or at least he assumed it was a boy – pulse, just as Lily had taught him to do. Lily . . Harry! Could this boy be Harry? Sirius rolled the boy over and gasped.
There was no way the boy could have been Harry! This child was covered in mud and filth; not only that but he was bone thin and gaunt. The boy's cheeks were sunken in just like . . . Sirius had been after he wad left Azkaban . . . just like all his fellow prisoners had looked.
No, please don't let him be Harry! Part of Sirius was screaming. Harry could not have been forced to suffer like this.
Sirius studied the boy harder, hoping to discern some feature on the boy's face that would give away his identity. However it was too difficult to discern the exact features on the boy's face, which was buried beneath a plaster of dirt. At least that's what the dark marks looked like in the dim light. It horrified Sirius to think that those darks marks were anything but dirt. He studied the rest of the boy quickly. The poor child could have been no older than 11 or 12.
Sirius felt a sigh of relief leave him. This boy was not Harry. Maybe it was just a boy the ministry had incriminated on the grounds that he had found out about wizards. Or perhaps Voldemort had used the boy as a reward for his faithful followers. He would not put it behind any of them to torture a poor innocent child. How could someone do this to a child? Sirius already knew that answer. He had seen it in the first fight against Voldemort. How cruel the Death Eaters had been to small children, just to seek some small person victory. It made him sick.
If someone could do this to an 11 year old child, what would they do to a fifteen year old boy? Who had caused Voldemort's first downfall nonetheless? Sirius' heart clenched in fear. He was afraid for his son, who was possibly in more danger than this boy had even been. His instincts cried out for him to do something.
Sirius did not bother mulling over his options, instead he scooped up the small child, who weighed no more than a bird. Pulling the child closer to his body, he could feel the child's chest slowly, painfully rise and fall. The child needed immediate medical attention, not the field healing that Sirius knew.
As quickly as he could, he began to jog back to Hogwarts, hoping that the child's fragile hold on life would last just a bit longer.
***************
Cornelius Fudge stared at the paper once again. It was a simple sheet with the Hogwarts sigil gracing the top of the page, and the writing that decorated the letter was none other than Albus Dumbledore's. it couldn't have been forged, the man's writing was too unique to be copied by another. And there were no spells on it. The only logical explanation was that those words were true, the old headmaster of Hogwarts would not lie to him about something such as this.
Not Harry Potter's death.
But his intelligent assistant had sworn that the dratted boy would be safely put away in Azkaban. It ha been an ingenious plan. And now the boy had to go and get himself killed.
Oh well.
Zone problem solved. He would never have to see that boy again. A boy who had gained fame just by living, and then he had again by winning some silly school contest. While he, Cornelius Fudge, had been slave driven to be as popular as he was. And he was not even some great leader either. The majority of the wizarding world would blindly follow him towards war, or anything, but they didn't honor him, didn't ever really want to talk to him. Not like they did that crazy Harry Potter. Everyone would follow Harry Potter wherever he might lead them. And they literally worshipped him.
He had no doubts as to whether the boy could have saved the wizarding world. It was obvious that a fifteen year old could not. It was better this way.
Much.
Too bad the boy's godfather hadn't died with him . . . That would have solved another problem.
Well, he'd take the gifts he had been given. What was that muggle saying . . . Don't look a gift hog in the mouth? Or had it been another creature like that? Not that it mattered. Why anyone would want a hog, or any such creature as a gift, he did not know.
Maybe the elder Weasley would finally do something rash so that Fudge could force the muggle-loving fool to lose all the respect he had gained over the past month or so. Or perhaps he could . . .
A knock on his office door sent his thoughts fleeing to the back of his mind. Quickly schooling a neutral face, he shoved the latest letter from Albus into his desk.
"Come in," he called to his late night visitor.
Through the door came the one person Fudge did not bother seeing.
"Good evening." He said pleasantly motioning for the figure to take a seat.
"Good evening, sir." A pleasant voice replied. The figure sat down on the chair, remaining completely still waiting for him to say something.
"What reason have you to come here this late in the evening?" Fudge asked politely hoping to get to the bottom of his acquaintance's visit.
"I only came to see why your light was still on sir. You have been working so hard these last few days, I was only hoping to help you."
Fudge nodded at the figure's answer. He sorted through his piles of paperwork and pulled out the piece of paper he had been reading before his friend had entered the room.
"Look at this," Fudge ordered kindly as he handed his only loyal friend the letter Professor Dumbledore had recently sent him. The figure took it from him, and read its words impassively.
"Pity." The figure muttered dryly.
"Yes it is, I could not have used the boy to draw in his wayward godfather. Oh well, perhaps we can use his death to draw in that criminal." Fudge told him confident grinning casually.
A identical grin mirrored his own.
"What do you propose sir?" The figure's grin widened as Fudge began to tell of his plans.
***************
End Chapter Eleven
Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, even though I have not updated in quite a while. I am so very sorry for not having updated, but I have not had a lot of time to write and so it took my quite a long time to write this chapter. The next chapter should come out much more quickly. I did not have time to write a response to all your reviews, I thought you would rather have this chapter out earlier than later. However if you do want a response you can e-mail me. I once again thank you all, however for your wonderful reviews! I know that this chapter was not the best, I'm sorry, the next chapter will be better. If anyone has any ideas to add to this story please tell me. Thank you.