So this is the first chapter if the version of "where the fires lead" that I never posted here.
I warn you all beforehand that one of the main characters in this story is IC, but I swear I will do as best I can to stop her from becoming a dreaded Mary-Sue.
I wrote this pre-sixth book, so it is now slightly AU.
The first few chapters might seem a bit hazy, but I promise all will be revealed as the story progresses. ENJOY!
I do not own any elements of Harry Potter -grumbles-
The dark room glowed with the faint light of a taper in the corner. There were many gathered in the room, but their dark cloaks made them more shadow than human.
"Bring her forth," commanded a disembodied voice, seemingly from the walls.
"Let go of me! Let go!" The sound of a struggle commenced and a few cries of pain.
"Get down girl!" a man snarled. In the light of the candle a cloaked man swiftly kicked the girl to the ground. She hit the ground with a thud, her face contorting betwixt the candlelight and shadow. An expectant silence settled among the deathly figures. Perhaps not to disappoint them the girl caught her breath. Placing both palms against the ground she lifted herself back onto battered legs and turned to face the man who had kicked her.
A flash of ebony hair, a yell followed by a startled cry, and two forms were on the floor- one in shock and bleeding from the head and another curled in a ball cradling a wounded knee. Whether the attack had been intentional or the product of a well-aimed loss of balance was unclear. Nevertheless the crowd was amused, cruel laughter and anonymous insults flew at the ball-like form. The now unmasked, but still strangely non-conspicuous, figure stood hurriedly in an attempt to regain his lost pride. Replacing his hood with an arrogant flourish, he spat at the girl and made as if to kick her a second time.
"Enough," commanded the disembodied voice in barely more than a whisper.
The man froze mid-kick.
Everyone in the room shivered and stood straight. "No more of this foolishness," he continued. He turned to the girl. "Come to me," he hissed.
The girl did not move from where she was huddled on the floor.
Her long hair shielded her face so none could see the acknowledgement of the command or the play of emotions that surely flooded her young face.
However, just for a second, it seemed as if she hugged herself a fraction tighter, but before one could be sure the girl was on her feet. As she approached the voice she lifted her head from her protective curtain of hair and stared into the man's red eyes, not shying away from their power.
"I will never let you use me," she spat, venom oozing off every oddly strained word.
"You'll never have to let me do anything my dear," he cooed smugly. "I will do what I wish."
With that there was a flash like lightning that momentarily lit up the room. The girl's eyes filled with terror as the lightning hit her straight in the heart.
She screamed in pain a scream that filled the room. A scream that continued on and on...
Harry bolted upright from his rest, breathing heavily, the girl's scream still ringing in his ears. He fell back. School was back in session he supposed. He knew that he should immediately inform Dumbledore of his dream, but for some inane reason he wanted to delay delivering the undoubtedly bad news to his headmaster by staying in his bed.
Tomorrow it was back to Hogwarts; he was relieved. Things had been incredibly strenuous at the Order of the Phoenix that summer. Summer days had been spent in the deepest corners of Grimmauld place where only watery sunlight highlighted the numerous spiders' webs and monstrous dust bunnies that needed to be cleaned.
"It isn't safe to go out these days Harry," Mrs Weasley had said, carefully leaving out the especially not for you. Her attempts were fruitless; the phrase trailed the sentence nevertheless.
Mrs. Weasley obviously hadn't seen the dust bunnies.
It was understandable- he had told himself many times before drifting off to sleep- but as understandable as it was, no threat of Voldemort presented itself; at least, not until now.
He lay in his bed for a moment before leaping up and grabbing the doorknob. Through the strange murky light of a Grimmauld place dawn, he squinted at a tall, slim figure. It was without a doubt Professor Dumbledore.
"Wait, Professor!" Dumbledore turned to him, his usually sparkling blue eyes filled with concern.
"Yes, Harry?" he asked wearily. He was often tired these days; the youth that had once gleamed from even his most defined wrinkles was now purged from his face. Nonetheless, Harry proceeded with his dream.
"Just now I saw Voldemort." Dumbledore scrutinized him behind the crescent moon glasses; his brow creased suddenly.
"Yes, my boy, please tell me what happened."
"There was this enormous room, more like a dome, dark... except for one massive candle." Dumbledore nodded and Harry continued, recalling the dream vividly. "Hundreds of Death Eaters were against the wall and Voldemort was on a chair at the head of the room. He told them to bring him a girl; she didn't want to go to him. She struggled and managed to hurt a few of them before one Death Eater kicked her to the ground. She stood up and then sort of leapt on one of them. The Death Eater went to kick her again, but Voldemort stopped him. He beckoned her and she said she would never let him use her- I'm not sure what she meant- he told her he'd do what he wanted. After that, he hit her with some kind of spell, and she screamed and I woke up." Harry couldn't help but feel as if he should know more; the ending hung lamely in the air around them.
Dumbledore seemed to pale. A sharp pain surrounded Harry's heart at the sight of Dumbledore's obvious fear. He had never seen Dumbledore show any kind of weakness before, not even in the worst of times, but now he saw it, fear so pure he seemed speechless for several moments. Bugger.
"Anything else Harry?" he asked gently.
"No, sir, she just screamed. The magic...it was like lightning, Professor, what was it?" he asked urgently, wanting a straight answer.
"Harry, I must go; I'm afraid I have some urgent business. Stay here, enjoy your last day before school. You have to go to Diagon Alley don't you? Have fun Harry. I'll see you soon." And with that, Dumbledore walked off, leaving Harry split between annoyance and satisfaction.
Consciousness slowly returned to the girl. A groan violently forced its way up from her throat, the expression of pain only causing her to writhe more. It was a shame, she thought cynically, that she finally was given such a magnificent bed when she was barely the conscious. It was odd to lie in emerald green satin sheets, velvet quilts, and a black satin canopy after becoming accustomed to the hard floor of her classroom and a pointless cotton blanket.
A laugh, edged in pain, escaped her causing her small pale form to again be wracked by a wave of pain so great her dark eyes fell back into her head.
A dark man glowered at her from the doorway. His icy features were set in an expression of cruel indifference. His lips were caught in a half-sneer.
Despite the girl's weakened state, she did not lose her resolve.
"Leave, Lucius," her voice was no more than a whisper.
Though her tone was weak, the threat she voiced was nevertheless real, and Lucius took a subconscious step back without realizing it. He cursed himself mentally being so intimidated. Never in his life had he ever let anyone but the Dark Lord command him; and yet this puny girl, who was surely about to die, made his skin crawl with fear.
To prove his superiority over her he swiftly and menacingly made his way to her bed and held his wand to her throat.
"Girl," he sneered, contempt slathered over his tone, "do not try me. You are in no position to do so. If another foolish word escapes from your lips, I will feel no guilt in killing you, and believe me it will not be a slow death." His tone was slow and as dangerous as he could manage. Even so, the girl's cracked lips morphed into a smile.
"Kill me, then." She paused for a second; her eyes, despite their fever, gleamed with a challenge. "I don't care. My death is something I will welcome to stop this."
Fighting words, but as believable as she made them sound, they were false. It's rare to find a sixteen year old who wants to be murdered.
She hated herself for it, but she had to make her death seem less attractive.
"Remember though, Lucius, presenting my corpse to Voldemort will mean something far, far worse than any pain I will feel."
A short growl of frustration escaped his lips and he leapt from the room slamming the door, muttering curses under his breath all the way down the hall.
The girl was left alone; any strength that had come to her while talking to Lucius had gone. She was now left with no distraction from her pain. She tossed and turned trying desperately to find a comfortable position, some place where the shooting pains would subside so she could sleep. But each arrangement brought her new suffering; despite her ever-lowering eyelids, she could not rest. Sighing with resignation, she hoped death would claim her or at the very least the pain would make her faint. Grimacing, she knew however that she had retained too much strength for either of these things to occur.
"Too bloody strong for my own bloody good," she moaned, willing the world to melt away.
In a chamber deep below the Malfoy estate, the Dark Lord sat upon his Dark throne. Thousands of Death Eaters still lined the room, not wavering in the least for fear of angering their lord.
"Sampson," the eerie voice called forth. "How is the shell?" A man, dressed like the others in a black robe, stepped forward; his face was hidden, but under the hood the man was trying desperately to stop himself from crying. He knew that the Dark Lord would soon inflict pain upon him that he would never recover from. He also knew that there was no way of escaping his Lord's wrath. For lack of any other action, he fell to his knees.
"My lord, she isn't ..." he stammered.
It seemed that he was right to be in fear, for Voldemort's serpent-like face showed the first signs of anger. In a voice no human could possibly have uttered, he commanded an answer.
"She didn't die, my lord. She lives on. She didn't take... I don't understand what happened! She's the right girl, you yourself said this, but she didn't let you use her, Lord. Just as she promised. Sh-she lives on. I d-d-don't know how she did it. She's herself just with y-your power flowing through her... you...you can still control her my...my lord but..." His voice was tinged with terror.
"BUT!" he roared, taking his wand out slowly, purpose clear as water.
Sampson swallowed hard, knowing death was at hand. He bowed his head. "She can resist, my Lord."
A jet of red fire erupted from his wand onto the man. Above the shrieks of Sampson's pain, Voldemort let out a cry of rage that temporarily deafened all who heard it. All around him, Death Eaters winced and cried and fell to their knees. The cry rang out through the manor, knocking Lucius, far above, off his feet. Making a young blonde rise from a troubled sleep. Making a young girl twist in pain. And making a teenager not far off faint in the middle of Diagon Alley.