Disclaimer: You recognise it? Then it is JK Rowling's.
Through the Furnace
Chapter Five. Day of Judgement
Harry sat alone in the darkness with nothing to do to take his mind off of his bad situation. He held to a vague hope someone in the future realised what had happened to him and was on their way to rescue him. However the truth was clearly obvious. Through his own stupidity he had been taken back to a time that did not think well of the magical world. And through even more stupidity he clearly was likely to be end up being executed.
Harry shivered. It all seemed so surreal. The threat of execution although so close seemed alien to him. And it wasn't the type of concept he would like to get to know a little better.
Harry was afraid. He scoffed to himself. He was afraid of muggles. Medieval muggles at that. He had no defence and he doubted any would stand and speak on his behalf. Would he be able to defend himself? And if that was the case would he be able to defend himself in the manner that would not paint himself in a worse light. Any way he looked at it he knew he was in a terrible position.
Bringing his legs up to his chest Harry rested his head on his knees and felt the tears of frustration dripping down his dirty cheeks. He wiped them away even though there was no one to see him and ridicule him for his moment of weakness. He wondered what it was like to die and if his friends would ever know of his dreadful fate.
It was only when Harry heard the unmistakable sound of stone grating on stone that he realised he had drifted off into a restless slumber. He lifted his face to the slither of light that reveal to him a stern looking man dressed in a plain brown cloth.
Very slowly the new comer made his way down into the cellar. "Don't try anything boy," he said as he descended.
"What can I do?" Harry snapped. He hated confided spaces and was feeling on edge and very frustrated. "Tickle you to death? If you haven't noticed I'm unarmed."
The man didn't look totally impressed he glanced up at the whole and gestured for something. The gleeful farmer's face appeared with a torch.
"Be quiet fiend," the newcomer hissed. "I am the parish priest."
"I'm not a fiend," Harry returned in defence. "I'm just a normal boy."
The priest snorted through his nostrils and held up Harry's watch. "Then what is this devilish device. I have never seen the like of it before."
Harry stared at his watch. He could pretend he didn't hear the question or he could feign ignorance or he could tell the priest he was being stupid. There was the possibility of making up an incredible lie, but Harry's brain was in chaos and he couldn't think of a story that a medieval priest would believe.
Therefore Harry to the conclusion that silence was the best way to handle the priest.
"Answer me!" the priest hissed dangerously.
Harry remained impassive blinking furiously trying valiantly to hide his overwhelming fear.
The priest struck out with this left hand and back handed Harry across his pale cheeks hard.
Harry fell to the floor and stared up at the priest his eyes glowering with anger.
The priest turned unconcernedly and hung the blazing torch on a bracket. For a moment Harry stared into the flickering shadows of the flame and then to the priest.
"Answer!" the priest rapt.
Harry bit his bottom lip as he saw the priest fingering a belt that held around his waist.
"Brother Andrew."
"Yes sir!" the farmer cried from above their heads.
"Come down here it seems the whelp needs a lesson."
Harry watched in morbid fascination as the farmer blundered his way down the ladder and landed heavily on the ground.
"Strip him. Tie him to that bracket there." The priest nodded to a bracket low on the wall, one that Harry knew he would be kneeling at. "Let's see if the tongue of my belt will open your mouth."
'
'
Remus Lupin apparated nearby Godric's Hollow. He had not been near the place since a few days before Lily and James' murder at the hands of Lord Voldemort. He shivered and looked around as he walked steadily closer to the home his best friend and his bride had shared.
It was not the same happy place that Remus Lupin occasionally still dreamed of. The garden was overgrown, the house falling apart but most of all it was eerily devoid of the happy voices of the Potters.
"Harry!" Remus called out. "Harry, come out here now!"
Remus had not really expected a reply but he call out again. "You are in so much trouble young man!"
Remus blundered his way through the front door trying not to look at the ruins of what should have been a happy family home. It was the battering of the back door that gained his attention.
Remus slowly made his way through the house and to the back door and stood in the entrance way. The backyard was in the same state as the rest of the place, he did not know why he expected it to be different.
Blinking away the stinging tears of hurt he still felt from James and Lily's death he glanced around. Something was out of place. Remus looked back into his memory trying to place what was wrong with the overgrown scene in front of him.
Then he saw it. A stone basin that he was sure James and Lily had never owned.
With quick strides he stumbled over and looked over the edge. Something mucky was floating around in it. But that was not what he was looking at. Swirling around on top of the ill looking mixture was a leering Dark Mark.
'
'
Harry pressed his cheek to the cool wall his back was completely exposed to the jeering priest. He wished he had the courage to snarl defiantly at the farmer who was rummage around in his cloak and pockets. However he thought to make those aggressive sounds would properly get him accused of being a werewolf.
He turned his face again once more to the stone wall and shook his head. He was faintly aware of the priest's glee over his quaking form. But Harry being the stubborn Gryffindor that he was, was determined to show no fear.
"Ah lookie here."
Harry swivelled his head around to see what the farmer was exclaiming over. He suppressed a groan of defeat for in the farmer's hand was the mysterious letter from near the basin.
The priest held up a pale hand for the letter and the farmer relinquished his hold of the precious find. Harry watched in growing consternation as the priest painfully opened the letter slowly his cobalt eyes glittering dangerously.
"No doubt your insufferable Gryffindor stupidity or curiosity," the priest read slowly drawling out each word unnecessarily. "So you are in league with Godric Gryffindor, boy?"
"No," Harry gasped. If the priest knew of Gryffindor's name it could only mean trouble for himself.
"It says you are a Gryffindor," the priest pointed out practically. "Nevermind. What was this basin?"
"I don't know," Harry replied truly feeling sickened now. "I'm only a messenger."
"Ah. So then where were you going to deliver this message?" The priest kneeled down faking a sympathetic expression on his face and waved the parchment under Harry's nose.
Harry turned his face away for he had not answer for the question. He was hopeless lost and there seemed no viable way to reply to the priest's questions without putting himself in further danger.
"Whose Dumbledore?"
"A better man than you," Harry snapped feeling his anger rise and get the better of him again.
The priest stepped back letting his belt trail in Harry's line of sight. "Very well, boy. We'll do this the hard way."
"He's from the future?" A petite ginger haired witched asked gasping and throwing her fingers up to her mouth in shock. "A real student from the future?"
Godric sighed impatiently and sipped at the mulled wine that his raven haired witch colleague had poured rather carelessly. Obviously her mind was else where which indeed was not unusual for Rowena Ravenclaw.
"Yes Helga," Salazar snapped at the ginger haired witch. "I do believe that is what Godric had said for the sixth time."
Helga glanced admiringly to her friend Rowena joy evidently bubbling in her crystal blue eyes. "Oh I can't believe this. It's so exciting."
Salazar smirked his beady eyes trained on Godric's face. "I thought it was rather more exciting coming upon Godric petrified by a skinny whelp of a boy in the forest."
Helga giggled appreciatively.
"I'm surprised that you didn't mention he was a parsel tongue," Godric said sipping from his goblet and glancing at Salazar over the edge.
Salazar baulked and glared at Godric. It was not often the snake founder was lost for words.
Helga was giggling again at the dry antics of the men before her. On the other hand Rowena yawned as if she was bored and picked delicately at her fingernails.
"Well let's see the young gentleman," Helga exclaimed. "I positively bursting at the seams to meet him."
Godric set down his goblet and sighed in defeat. "He may still be asleep. Modern wizards seem to have developed a keen sense of distrust for the elders to penetrate the minds of their youngsters. He was most distressed by the process."
"It could not be helped, Godric," Rowena replied delicately. "We are at war we must know what we are dealing with at all times if we are at all to survive."
"Yes," Godric quipped miserably. "I suppose you are right. It just saddens me to see that there is little trust amongst the magical community."
Helga was pacing by the entrance grinning from ear to ear and bouncing with energy Godric felt that he did not have.
The Hogwarts Four slipped through the camp barely taking notice of the others that milled around doing chores and work. Helga was leading the way purposefully and had to stop now and then for the others to catch up.
Finally they reached the tent. Godric swept the cover open and ducked inside before pausing in disbelief.
"What's up?" Helga asked miffed as she ran straight into Godric's back.
Godric slowly moved to one side and let the others in. "He's gone."
"Well that is obvious," Salazar snapped eying the empty vial on a nearby table. "You gave him a half drought."
Godric sniffed heavily and glanced around. "Seems like I misjudged his Slytherin characteristics… although he has taken nothing from here…"
"Slytherin characteristics?" Salazar half hissed in annoyance at being compared to a spoiled, ragged child found in the forest.
Godric shook his head and gathered his cloak from a nearby chair. "Give me his wand."
Salazar just stared at his friend.
"Give me his wand, Salazar," Godric growled threatening.
Salazar fished through his robes and pulled out Harry's wand a little churlishly. "Fine. Take it…. Where are you going…?"
Godric had taken the wand from Salazar's grasp and thundered out of the tent doing up the gold clasps of his cloak as he did so.
"Godric?" Helga asked panting up behind him. "Where are you going?"
"After him," Godric muttered.
Salazar was muttering and cursing stamping his foot. "But why Godric? The boy left of his own devices, leave him he is only trouble."
"He needs protection," Godric growled. "The wizarding world has changed somewhat. He'll be killed."
"And whose fault would be, Godric?" Salazar called at Godric's retreating back.
The lion founder neither turned nor answered Salazar's rhetorical question. He kept striding through the encampment his cloak swishing at his feet.
Salazar watched Godric his arms limp by his side.
"You can't stop him," Rowena said unnecessarily at Salazar's side. "You of all wizards should know this."
Salazar turned to the raven haired witch who had been silent throughout the whole
exchange. "I didn't see you trying to make Godric see any sense."
Rowena sniffed and shook her regal head as if her reply was considerably obvious. "It would not have helped."
Salazar scowled. "Godric will get himself killed or worse in trouble. Then we'll have to go and save him."
Rowena shrugged.
"It has always been that way and I daresay it'll be forever that way," Helga sighed wistfully.
Salazar moaned softly and glanced at Helga; she was as usual was preverbal off with the fairies. Sometimes Helga could be so insightful that he was caught of guard. She was not as stupid as people proclaimed her to be. She was rarely sensible about anything, always jolly and keen but that didn't make her dumb. He fervently hoped for the sake of his own sanity that Helga was wrong.
Harry let in a shuddering breath into his lungs. He sounded ominously like the rattling of a dementor. He pushed the thoughts of those horrid creatures away and concentrated on what was being said about him.
"He will be executed dawn, tomorrow," the priest was saying. Harry groaned and lolled his head to the side. The priest sounded as if he was coming from very far away.
"Shall I make preparations your holiness?" the farmer inquired rubbing his meaty hands together.
"Yes," the priest sighed, "May God have mercy on his soul."