Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or any of the Potter-verse. Everything you recognise belongs to the magnificent Ms Rowling. I do, however own any characters you don't recognise.
A/N: I'm sorry! I had major writer's block while working on the letter from Ron – I think because it isn't supposed to be read in the same way as the rest of the story (as my Ron isn't a particularly good letter writer at the best of times!) I found it hard to write more than a sentence at a time. But I finally got it finished, and now I'm working on getting my writing moving again!
Again, sorry, I'll try to be better with my updates, but no promises!
Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and those who sent me emails asking when it was going to be updated – feeling guilty can be a good motivator apparently :D
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Fulfilling Prophecies
Chapter sixteen
October 29, 2000
Harry appeared at the edge of Hogwarts' wards and immediately noticed extra layers of defence Albus and the other teachers must have activated since they learnt the bad news. Mentally nodding his approval of the spell-work, Harry strode quickly up to the castle, through the doors and up to the Headmaster's office.
Knocking politely on the inner door, he waited for an invitation before entering. Seated around a table, which looked suspiciously like it had been transfigured from Albus' desk, were fifteen or so members of the Order, many of whom Harry knew well. From the grim looks on their faces, Harry surmised they knew what was going on and were getting to the heart of the matter.
"Sorry I'm late everyone, I had a small issue to deal with." Harry spoke in way of greeting. Many of the members smiled at him, or nodded a welcome; several looked as though they wanted to get up and give him a proper welcome – Molly Weasley in particular was about to jump out of her seat at the sight of him – but Harry sat down at the empty seat opposite Dumbledore, forestalling any reunions until after the meeting.
"I hope your issue was satisfactorily resolved, Harry, though seeing you in one piece is a good indication." Albus' eyes twinkled more brightly for a moment before he continued, "I have finished outlining the situation, and have just about finished informing the group of the tasks that will be undertaken." Harry nodded in response, and Dumbledore continued on where he left off before Harry's entrance had interrupted the meeting.
Wrapping things up shortly after, Albus let the Order members present mill around and discuss things in smaller groups. He watched with particular interest as Molly Weasley was finally able to give Harry a proper greeting, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as she repeatedly engulfed him in her infamous hugs.
"Really Harry, you should have let me come to visit you; I've been so worried about whether or not you've been eating well!" Harry hastened to assure her he had been eating plenty and healthily, but knew that wasn't the only reason his surrogate mother was worried. "You'll certainly be coming back to the Burrow for at least one meal since you're back." Molly Weasley said firmly before wrapping her arms around him once again.
Smiling his agreement, Harry excused himself and made his way to where Dumbledore was standing behind his desk – transformed back from the large table. "Did you manage to find my notes?" Harry asked, eager to look them over to see whether his earlier theory of Voldemort being reborn as a muggle might be true.
With a nod and grim smile, Dumbledore pulled a folder, filled with both parchment and muggle pieces of paper, out from a drawer in his desk. "They were right where you left them, Harry." Albus stood, silently giving Harry the cue that he could leave to get working. "I've set up your old room; I'm sure Dobby has it warm and ready for you to use by now."
He watched as Harry spoke briefly with Professor Flitwick, making a copy of his notes so that the diminutive man could make a start on his part of the research while Harry still had the originals. The twenty-year-old dodged Molly quickly before making his escape, presumably heading to the third floor where his room was located.
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Harry sighed heavily as he closed the door behind him. It was almost stifling being back in the wizarding world, laden with all the same burdens he had had before; but in a way it was a relief – no matter what he had done at university he had always felt that things were too quiet, he had unconsciously ached for something to happen, and he had only just realised that was how he had felt. He had been happy studying, spending time with Allie, Jayce, and all of his other non-magical friends; but they could never have the same understanding of him someone of wizarding background could.
But he was here now, and he had things he needed to do. A quick glance around the room showed a richly coloured bedroom containing a large bed surrounded by red hangings, much like those in the Gryffindor dormitory he had slept in for seven years; and a large wooden desk rivalling the Headmaster's in size set up with ink-wells, quills and a stack of parchment. To the right of the room when he entered was a doorway leading to a small bathroom, and it was here Harry headed after depositing the folder of notes on the desk. Splashing water on his face, Harry attempted to wake himself up again after a long day; his watch showed the time as a few minutes before midnight.
As refreshed as he could be, Harry sat at the desk and, pulling out some fresh parchment and a new quill, before going over his notes, made lists. One for listing everyone involved, and those who would need to be informed, another for the tasks he had already assigned, a third for equipment they would need, and a fourth listed things he needed to ask people or check up on. This list he put to the side of his desk, while all others he attached to the wall in front of him.
His general 'housekeeping' done, Harry opened the folder with his notes from years ago and started to revise them, making additional notes as he went and occasionally sending for Dobby to collect books from the library for him.
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Tap, tap. Tap, tap. Harry lifted his head from his notes, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses. Looking around the room, he located the source of the noise. An owl was perched outside his window, knocking its beak against the glass. With a frown, Harry glanced at his watch, eyes widening as he noticed it was already three-thirty a.m.; he had spent longer working than he had thought.
Tap, tap. The persistent bird reminded him of its presence, and the tired young wizard let it in, frowning again at the sight of the thick letter tied to its leg. Scrawled on the outside of the letter was his name in a familiar script. Ron.
With a moment of hesitation, Harry opened the letter and began to read.
Harry,
I don't really know how to write this, but I've told myself I'm not going to bed until I've finished, so you're most likely reading this in the middle of the night for which I apologise.
Three weeks ago – which would have been Saturday the 7th of October – I was having a few drinks in the Three Broomsticks. It wasn't late when I left, but it was dark enough outside that I couldn't see much outside the light of the streetlamps; which meant I didn't see the two men until they were dragging me into the alley next to the pub. They held onto my arms while a third took my wand from me before pushing a portkey into my hand.
I'm not sure where we ended up; it was an old building made of stone from what I could see, we landed in what must have been the basement, there were no windows and the first room was bare. The three men – all large, built along the lines of Crabbe and Goyle – directed me through a door into the next room which despite the dim light I could see was sparsely furnished with a chair and large table.
Nobody had spoken to me yet, despite my yells and abuse – they seemed to not hear a word I said. I was pushed into the chair, unable to move because of a quickly placed binding spell, after which two of the men left the room, and a fourth man stepped from the shadows. This man was tall and lean; he had a tough look about him that suggested he was a fierce man when provoked, though he was always calm whenever I saw him. He was dark-haired and had a foreign look to him; he spoke with very precise English, though it didn't sound like his native language. That first time I saw him, I felt a sense of wrongness about him. It grew stronger after I knew the reason for it.
He said he had something to offer me, in exchange for which I would have to hand over the soul stone. He told me he knew where it was, and that he could not get to it himself, but I would be able to. I think at that point I told him to go to hell; there was nothing he could offer me that would convince me to betray the wizarding world. Well, that was what I thought then.
I waited as he stood explaining where the soul stone was hidden, all the while wondering why he thought he could convince me. Once he had finished his explanation, he called for one of the guards to bring 'him' to the room. Then he explained what he could offer me.
I didn't believe him, I knew what magical research had proven and that what he was claiming was supposed to be impossible. But I wanted to believe him, so I listened – not that I had much choice. He told me he was a necromancer; he told me he could bring Ginny and Hermione back from the dead.
He said he had made advancements in the field, and had managed to bring a person back successfully – personality, magic and body; everything. I was openly disbelieving, I told him it was impossible; that there was no way he could manage to resurrect a person so completely. Then he told me he could prove it.
The guard he had sent away earlier returned, followed by another person. This man was wearing a long robe with a hood up – his face in shadow. I didn't know him until the necromancer introduced him; and then, I didn't believe him despite all that he had been telling me. He introduced him as Lucius Malfoy.
I knew Malfoy was dead, I saw him die, but when the man lowered the hood on his robe, it was definitely the Malfoy patriarch. That wasn't the most overwhelming thing, though. I know that resurrecting a body is easy enough in necromancy, but when Malfoy spoke, he had all the personality and characteristics he had had before his death. In other words he was just as scathing and arrogant as ever; he also proved to me that he was truly Malfoy by bringing up things nobody else could know.
I didn't know what to do at this stage. The necromancer repeated his offer; he would resurrect Ginny and Hermione in return for me retrieving the soul stone and bringing it to him. He also made it clear that if I were to tell anyone he would make things very difficult and painful for not only me, but also the rest of my family. He was strange, however, in that he said if I refused he would let me go free – though he would erase parts of the conversation from my memory. I didn't entirely believe him on that last point though.
After a while it became obvious to the necromancer that I wasn't going to answer him any time soon, so one of the guards led me to another room, this one modestly furnished with a bed and desk, a second door leading to a toilet. The room was eerie, lit only by a number of torches in sconces along the walls, but comfortable considering I was being held captive by a necromancer and former dead death eaters.
They left me for a few hours – by the clock in the room I knew it was almost midnight – and I sat and thought about the offer. I knew it was wrong, but this was my sister and Hermione and if I could get them back … I wanted to see them again and talk with them again.
I'm ashamed of my decision, yet if it had worked, I'm not sure I would have regretted it.
As soon as I was in the room again with the necromancer I agreed to the offer. He gave a small smile, like he had expected my answer. Then he told me where the stone was; he didn't explain how he knew, but he gave me explicit directions about how to find it and what enchantments I would need to break to take it. He knew every detail about where it was; the forest it was in, the large rock that served as the anchor-point for the enchantments, and the various illusions that you layered over it. I have no idea how he had managed to get all this information – as far as I knew it was only you and Professor Dumbledore who would know it. I tried questioning him about it, but he brushed the questions aside for a while before telling me to stop wasting time.
I was to meet up with the necromancer again one week later – he had given me a timed portkey – and hand over the soul stone. He would present the newly resurrected Ginny and Hermione to me a week after that, as he said it would take that long to revive them. Once he had explained the details of the meeting, and made sure I had remembered the directions to get the stone, he handed me another portkey which activated as soon as I touched it. The portkey took me to the same alley I had left from, and I numbly wandered back into the Three Broomsticks.
Over the next few days I thought more about whether I was going to go through with the deal, twice going to the forest where the soul stone was hidden but turning back at the last. Eventually I went through with it, undoing the enchantments and wards in the precise order I had been instructed with. If I had had to figure it all out myself I wouldn't have stood a chance in getting the stone; but the knowledge the necromancer had was precise and detailed and I had no problems.
I kept a low profile until the portkey activated, at which time I had holed myself up in my flat with excuses prepared for the day. I was taken to the same place as last time, the more comfortable room that is, and saw the necromancer sitting at the desk, with Malfoy senior standing behind him. They were both waiting for me, and I handed the stone over without saying anything. The necromancer smiled victoriously at me when he took it, protectively cradling it in his hands.
Just as I was starting to stammer out a question about receiving my end of the deal he cut me off with a raised hand. He explained that he would give me another portkey that would activate in another week, taking me to a different place where Ginny and Hermione would be waiting for me.
The next week I was transported by the portkey to just outside a small house in the middle of nowhere, where the necromancer was waiting for me. He immediately invited me inside and there, sitting on the couch looking pale and nervous, but completely unhurt, was Ginny and Hermione.
I can't tell you how it felt, I was a mess for the next hour – the necromancer had left pretty much straight away – but I was happier than I had been in a long time. They both seemed quiet and a little confused, they didn't remember everything, but they were alive!
I apparated them both home with me after they said they weren't ready to go into public or see anyone else. The next morning I was spelling and un-spelling a few items, trying not to be too behind in my tasks with my guests, when Ginny startled me. A stray finite I was casting hit her and her form wavered, a panicked expression coming across her face.
They were both impostors. I discovered they were witches of a similar age who had been charmed with some basic memories and personalities of Ginny and Hermione, as well as instructions on what they were to do. They were to get close to as many former Order members as possible before killing them.
Both witches had been reported missing from Germany a year ago, I discovered, and had had ties to Death Eaters. Unfortunately, before I could find anything else out, they were killed by some spell. They are both in my apartment; I didn't know what else to do with them.
I can't think of anything more to tell you, except that I'm sorry. I did something terrible because I thought I could get them back, it's lucky I discovered who they really were before anything else happened. I don't know what I can do to help, but I'll do anything you tell me.
I'm sorry Harry.
Ron.
Harry took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. He wasn't entirely sure what he was thinking, a part of him was still incredibly at Ron, but another part understood why he did it and wondered how he would react in the same situation. Could he have resisted the necromancer's offer? Harry wasn't sure, he could be rational about it now, but faced with the possibility he did not know what he would do.
Sighing, Harry looked at his clock – it was past four am now – and folded the letter up, placing it on top of the notes he had written earlier in the night. He would need to study it again to get as much information out of it as he could; but for now he decided to get a few hours rest, he wouldn't be any good if he couldn't stay awake.
