Author's Notes: So, here we go, gang, The Rotten Writer returning with the second chapter of our bonded's summer holiday before the fit hits the shan with their upcoming fourth year at school.
We've got some more set up going on, getting us to the next big event next chapter leading into the start of the school year. I'm really looking forward to this year but I want to take this opportunity to warn people now… this is where this story is really going to start earning its M rating. This is where things start getting darker, a lot darker in some areas. And the bonded and their friends are growing up so things are going to progress to a little more adult material. Not dramatically so, they're still young, but they're 14 and 15, hormones be out of control at that age, people. I hope this doesn't turn anyone away but there was a reason I changed this from a T to an M rating a while back.
As I stated before, this will be the last year that sticks closer to the major canon plot points, but even in that I'm making some decent changes, I believe, with the original material. I look forward to seeing what you guys think of what I plan on doing and hope that I can bring an interesting and entertaining story to the table. This is a nice easy chapter with a bit of foreshadowing, but next chapter? Strap yourselves in, ladies and gentlemen, it's gonna be a bumpy ride.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the original portions of my plot and any original characters that I create within this story.
Here's chapter 44 of Soul Scars. Enjoy.
Soul Scars Part Four
Allegria
By,
Rtnwriter
Director Croaker waited at the bottom of the stairs for Lord Potter and his party to arrive. His mind churned as he waited, still debating just how much to divulge to the powerful young Lord of House Potter. For a child not quite fourteen years of age, Potter already had quite the impressive resumé, and if his estimations were correct, the list of that boy's accomplishments would only continue to grow as time went on.
"He would make an incredible ally," Sable commented from their position to Croakers right side, once again giving the Director the impression that his old friend could read his mind.
"Or a terrible enemy. The Hydra… if I'm right, they deserve to know. But we still don't have the whole thing and what we do have would just worry them."
"As you have said, though, nothing they do will make any difference, since an Oracle foretelling is not the same as prophecy. We also do, now, have more than we did, and the newest piece is more encouraging."
Croaker scoffed. "If you find blood and death encouraging."
Sable shrugged. "At least it doesn't seem to indicate their blood and death."
Croaker hummed, but said nothing as the sound of footsteps reached his ears. In less than a minute, five figures came into view. Potter was in the lead, dressed head to toe in black, with his three bond mates following a step behind him and Director Bones bringing up the rear of the group.
"Director Bones," Croaker greeted her. "It's nice to see you again."
"I'll take your word for it," she muttered and he grinned, unseen by anyone within the charmed confines of his hood.
"Misses Granger and Bones, Lady Greengrass, Lord Potter," he said to the rest of them and only Harry nodded his head to actually acknowledge the greeting.
"Why is it that you wanted to meet with us, Director?" Harry asked without preamble, studying the two cloaked figures intently.
"You, Lord Potter. All four of you, to be sure, but you, in particular, are of significant importance to the wizarding world." Croaker admitted. "I would prefer not to say more out here, however. If you'll follow me, we have a conference room already prepared."
"No."
Croaker was already in the midst of turning to lead the group into the Department,, proper, when the single word, spoken in a forceful tone, reached his ears. He stopped and turned back.
"No?" he asked, eyeing the darkly dressed Lord Potter carefully.
"No. Amelia tells me you're offering to help us," Harry said, his glowing eyes fixed on the dark shadows within Croaker's hood.
"Indeed we are, Lord Potter, hence why I wished to meet with you all today."
"That is a fairly vague statement, with a significant number of possible meanings," said Miss Granger, moving around to stand at Potter's right shoulder. "What is it you think the Department of Mysteries can offer that the DMLE couldn't? What is it you think we even need help with?"
"I would very much prefer not to say out here in the hall. Though your caution is understandable and commendable, I assure you that we are not your enemies."
"We'll go to this meeting you want, and we'll listen to your spiel under one condition," Lady Greengrass spoke up, moving to stand on Potter's left side as Miss Bones moved to stand to her left as well.
"And what would that be?"
"We want you to take us to the Hall of Prophecies to retrieve the one that is supposedly about Harry," Miss Bones said.
"Help us retrieve that, and we'll listen. But I don't promise anything more than that."
Croaker looked again into the glowing pools of green that were the Lord Potter's eyes and he nodded. It was something he'd hoped to do anyway while he had them here. Dumbledore was definitely on the side of the Light. But Croaker didn't trust the old man to give honest answers if he felt the information was better kept hidden. Croaker did not have that same belief. The Department of Mysteries worked in secret with the most stringent Oaths and rules regarding the secrecy of what they did. But as Director, it was his prerogative what information they released, to whom, and why.
"Of course. I would be happy to help you in this manner. If you'll follow me?"
At their nod, he turned and started to lead the way to the Hall with Sable falling into step beside him and the five visitors falling in behind. It was definitely going to be an interesting meeting.
#####
"That… was a lot of prophecies," Harry muttered some time later as they took their seats at a table easily capable of seating ten in a nondescript, undecorated conference room somewhere within the labyrinthine corridors of the Department.
"Why are there so many?" Susan asked.
"The problem with prophecy, is that they're about something that could happen. Not will, or even should. Many of those prophecies were given a very long time ago. Some are about people that haven't even been born yet, most likely. With others, the people involved probably died long ago without the prophecy ever becoming active."
"Active?" Harry looked up at that, his interest captured. "What does that mean?"
"Prophecies are naught but words, Lord Potter, until some action is taken. Either someone acting to fulfill or prevent the prophecy from occuring. Until that happens, nothing is set in stone, but once it does, then the prophecy becomes active and the events take their place within the timeline. Technically, before a prophecy becomes active it's events do not exist, not within the actual fabric of our reality. There is always the possibility of something else happening that would stop whatever triggering event causes the prophecy to become active. If you'd like, tap that sphere you're holding with your wand and give it a listen, I will then be able to point out the triggering event that caused it to become active."
Harry eyed Croaker for a moment where he sat across the table from him, Sable next to them before he turned his attention to the glowing orb that he clutched tightly in one hand. The Hall of Prophecies had been huge, much larger than Harry had expected it to be with thousands upon thousands of glowing spheres sitting neatly on carefully labeled shelves. The sheer number of them had been absolutely staggering. Harry wasn't certain how the massive room was even able to exist beneath the streets of London but he, rightly, assumed that magic was involved.
He turned to look at his girls, and then to Amelia as, one by one, they each nodded to him. Taking a deep breath, he flicked his wrist, catching his wand blank as it shot out into his hand and then set the orb down, in it's stand, on the smoothly polished surface of the table.
"Lord Potter?" Croaker interrupted before he could tap the orb.
He looked up, but said nothing, letting the questioning expression on his face speak for him.
"We know that you no longer need a wand, Lord Potter. I appreciate your wish to keep that a secret, but such things are not easily hidden from us, especially with you being such an important figure. I assure you, we have no ill will toward you, I just wanted you to know you did not have to pretend, here."
"I would like to know how it is that you know that," Harry snapped, not quite glaring at the two cloaked figures.
"We have a large information network, Lord Potter," Sable offered. "It is kind of part of what we do around here. Attempting to keep track of unusual occurrences, strange phenomena, and so on. When the Department learned of the Soul Bond between the four of you, that had us taking a rather keen interest, so we kept an eye out on the goings on around the school. It wasn't difficult to learn what happened in the Chamber, and we extrapolated, based on the injuries you sustained, that wandless ability was a possible outcome."
"Admitting to spying on me doesn't exactly make me want to trust anything you people say," Harry pointed out.
"If we were spying, that would be true. However, you cannot fault us for wanting to gather information about something strange before approaching. Investigation and examination go hand in hand," Croaker pointed out. "We'll try to answer all your questions, but back to the part of the prophecy, if you please," he added, gesturing to the orb with one gloved hand.
Scowling, Harry held back a few choice comments and simply tapped the orb with one forefinger, drawing on his magic as he did so. A moment later, a silver mist rose above the orb, as if seeping through the smoothly curved surface, quickly resolving into a small, but very detailed image of a woman sitting in an old, battered looking armchair. She wore the thickest pair of glasses Harry had ever seen and appeared to have several shawls draped across her shoulders.
"Professor Trelawney!?" Hermione blurted out, gaping at the image in shocked recognition. Before Harry could question her, his attention was pulled back to the image as she began to speak in an unnaturally deep and raspy voice.
The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approached… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal, but he will have a power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…
As the voice trailed off, the mist receded silently back into the orb and they stared at it for several moments before the explosion came.
"Are you completely out of your mind?" Hermione almost bellowed, leaping out of her chair as if a spring had launched her from it. "That woman is-is a quack! She's a fraud! She's a misty headed twit that wants people to worship her amazing power when she doesn't have any!"
Her bond mates stared, wide eyed as, for the first time, Hermione Granger verbally lambasted a teacher.
"It doesn't matter."
Croaker's magically concealed voice cut her off as efficiently as a guillotine might have.
"What do you mean?" Harry asked, tugging Hermione gently back into her seat, letting the girl seethe and stew for a while longer as he attempted to keep the discussion moving.
"Sybil Trelawney, likely is everything that Miss Granger claimed her to be, but that doesn't matter. This is a real prophecy, otherwise it wouldn't have appeared here on the shelf when she gave it. She has some minor Seer ability, but a true Seer can't control when he or she receives a vision, can't control when they give a prophecy, and they can't remember it afterwards either. But you were asking about the difference between an active prophecy and triggering events, so if I could explain?"
Hermione tightly clamped her lips shut, her eyes narrowed angrily, nostrils flaring as she breathed heavily through her nose and Harry laid a comforting hand on her back, attempting to soothe her, at least a little.
"Please, continue," he said, gesturing to the Director and Croaker nodded, the hood of their cloak shifting to indicate the motion.
"Before a triggering event takes place, the prophecy has a chance that it will never become active, but as soon as that event occurs, the events of the prophecy itself become set in motion, and nothing can stop it from happening after that point. Ironically, it is frequently a person's attempt to stop a prophecy from coming into fruition that ends up being the triggering event for it, such as what happened here.
"From what we have been able to determine, a Death Eater heard part of the prophecy while it was first being recited to Albus Dumbledore himself before the spy was discovered and removed from the area. He took that information, likely only the first two lines: 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…'
"That information was then taken to Voldemort. He chose a target and attacked you and your family. And that was the triggering event for this particular prophecy. The next line where it stated that the Dark Lord would mark him as his equal… that is what happened when he attempted to kill you that night and instead left you with that scar on your forehead, Lord Potter. That is the mark he left on you. If he hadn't attempted to get around the prophecy by trying to kill you before you had a chance to grow up and threaten him you might never have been in a position to be any real threat to him at all."
"So he created a self fulfilling prophecy. Every action he takes to attempt to circumvent or escape it merely causes what he's trying to avoid in the first place."
"Precisely," Croaker said, sounding mildly impressed and Harry quirked a grin at the cloaked Unspeakable.
"I read a lot of fantasy novels, Director. Prophecy, destiny, fate. These are frequently used concepts in a lot of stories and, fictional though they might be, there's a lot of nuggets of wisdom and truth in there if you know how to look."
"Hmmm… I'll have to get a research team on looking into those. You never know what might be out there," Croaker mused. "Anyway, may we assume that we can all agree this very strongly points toward Voldemort and Lord Potter?"
They reluctantly nodded. "It makes a lot of sense," Hermione admitted. "I can still see a lot of ways how it could point to someone other than Harry, possibly, but on the surface this all looks pretty straightforward."
"But it doesn't say who will win, just that one will have to die," Daphne pointed out. "That's good news, isn't it? It means that Harry has a real chance to beat him?"
"We believe so, Lady Greengrass, and we are willing to offer help, when we can. How that help might present itself, we're not entirely certain at the moment. Unfortunately we cannot operate in the open, that is a precept of the Department. Right now, I believe the best way the Department can assist you is through information and to do so we'd like to ask you to share the experiences you've had with Tom Riddle."
"Don't you already know? What with your large information network?"
"We know what happened, yes," Sable said. "But we'd like to hear it from you. The incident in your first year and in the Chamber in your second."
"Maybe I should just write a book," Harry muttered. "Then, when someone asks me to tell a story for the hundredth bloody time I can just hand them a copy and be on my way."
"Harry-"
"Language, I know, Hermione, I know." Harry sighed and leaned back in his seat. "Well, make yourselves comfortable," he said. "We're going to be here for a while."
With the girl's help, and Amelia chiming in herself, on occasion, they went over their first two years at school, again. Sable and Croaker listened intently, pausing the retelling to ask a number of questions. Harry noted that they seemed particularly keen on his description of Voldemort sticking out of the back of Quirrell's head as well as Amelia's explanation of the vaporous cloud Kingsley had described to her. She hadn't seen it herself as she'd been in the midst of running through the black curtain of flames into the chamber with the Mirror of Erised. Harry did not describe what he saw in the mirror when he'd looked into it other than the part about his reflection putting the Stone into his pocket.
They were also extremely curious about the diary, how it behaved, what it was doing to Luna, and the shade of Riddle as well. Daphne had quite a bit to say during that portion of the retelling.
"So you didn't see the shade's destruction yourself, Lord Potter?" Croaker asked as the story was winding down.
"No, I was barely conscious and I was looking at the diary as I stabbed it with the fang I'd pulled from my arm. I lost consciousness only seconds after that as well." He glanced over at Daphne, realizing that she'd never actually described what she saw at that moment in his hearing before, a curious expression on his face.
"It wasn't pretty," she whispered, her arms wrapped around herself. Susan moved closer to her and set a hand on her back as the blond leaned into her, her eyes distant. "When Harry stabbed the diary, Riddle staggered, almost like he'd been stabbed himself. He… he started screaming, and the diary was screaming too. These cracks started appearing across his body and a bright white light poured out. His back was to me, so I couldn't see his face but his body… well, his form, since he didn't really have a body, yet, was… twisting and contorting.
"It looked like he was in agony. The cracks kept spreading and spreading and eventually he just… exploded. He shattered into these wisps of light that all faded away after a few seconds. A moment later the sticking charm that was holding me to the wall broke and I fell to the ground. I ran over to Harry and turned him onto his back just as he passed out."
"What about Miss Lovegood?" Croaker asked, gently. "Did she revive immediately or did it take some time?"
"I'm… I'm not entirely certain. I was distracted, trying to check on Harry, but… I think she started moving the second that Riddle vanished."
"The cloud that Kingsley saw in their first year also rose from the diary as Harry was stabbing it," Amelia cut in. "I saw that in the memory that Daphne and Harry both submitted to us in the Hospital Wing after he woke."
Croaker and Sable glanced toward each other, silently, as some communication seemed to pass between them.
"Thank you, very much, for telling us. I understand these can't be pleasant memories for any of you, but it's very important that we understand as much as we can about our enemy."
"Did you get anything helpful from that, at least?" Susan asked, her arms now wrapped around Daphne.
"We did, Miss Bones. It gives us an idea, at least, as to how Riddle survived that Halloween night back in '81. Not a confirmation, by any means, but an idea."
"Are you going to share this idea?"
"I would hesitate to do so, Lord Potter, until we know for sure. If Riddle did what my first guess tells me he did… well, it is by far some of the darkest, foulest magic ever. There hasn't been any sign of Riddle since his diary was destroyed. The fact that the prophecy is still active tells us he's not dead, but if that's true, then he's far more insane, and far more dangerous than we thought. Which is saying something."
Harry opened his mouth, his brow furrowed in an angry scowl but Sable spoke up, quickly cutting him off before he could start.
"Please, Lord Potter. We aren't withholding information. We just want to try to confirm, somehow, our guess. This is not something that we would tell anyone without extremely good reason, and if we're wrong, we'd rather not disturb you with the details until we have confirmation. It would help if we could examine the diary itself."
"Can't you just write to the Headmaster? He has it as far as I know," Harry informed them, not pleased to be kept in the dark, yet again.
Croaker shrugged. "I probably will, Lord Potter. I can't be certain how helpful he might be, he trusts us as little as we trust him. But he might be willing to work with us against a common foe such as Tom Riddle. We will do our utmost to investigate and we'll keep in contact with you on our findings. We might be of significant help in the future if this is what I think it is, but it will take time and investigation. I hope you can understand that and be patient with us. These things do not happen quickly, as much as we might like them too."
The bonded shared a quick look before they nodded, very nearly in unison. Actually, the girls were in unison, only Harry was slightly off beat from the other four, something Croaker noted curiously.
"Then I think this meeting is very nearly at an end."
"What are we going to do with that?" Harry asked, pointing to the glowing prophecy sphere where it say, innocently, on its stand.
"Keep it. Destroy it. Whatever you wish. We have no need for it here, and destroying it may help to keep it out of Riddle's hands in the future. If and when he returns, he will likely make finding out the full wording of that prophecy one of his top priorities."
Harry reached out and picked up the orb, studying it carefully for several long seconds before he stuffed it into one of his robes pockets.
"I had one last thing that I wanted to say before you leave," Croaker said, reaching into their cloak to withdraw a slim scroll of parchment. "This is what we have been able to find about an Oracle foretelling. An extremely old one, we have discovered. At first, I thought it was something more recent, I had a memory of it that I couldn't entirely explain. As we've dug into it, it appears that it goes back much further than I originally believed. I've been calling it the Oracle of the Hydra, though to be fair it has no proper name." They held the scroll out across the table, offering it to Amelia, who hesitated a moment in surprise before she took it in hand.
"I believe that it pertains to the four of you," they said, nodding to the bonded. "But knowing the words of an Oracle when you are a subject of it… that is an incredibly heavy burden, one that I wouldn't wish on anyone. That copy is incomplete, missing a portion from the end. How much is missing, we do not know, but we are still searching the archives, looking for the entire thing. Unlike a prophecy, the foretelling of an Oracle is not something that may, or may not, come to pass. It is fact, if with some slightly romantic or metaphorical language. Its interpretation is much simpler than that of prophecy.
"It might be best to let Madam Bones read that and let her decide if she agrees that it is about you, and if she thinks you should know. If you trust her to make that kind of decision for you."
"I think we can live with that," Harry informed them after the four had a brief, hushed, conversation and Amelia tucked the scroll into her robes to look at later.
"Then I believe we're done here. I swear to you, Lord Potter, we will look into our leads and contact you for another meeting as soon as we know anything. We do not want Riddle coming back into power any more than you do so your success is as much our priority as it is yours."
"Thank you, Director Croaker," Daphne said as they stood, "but I very much doubt his success is anywhere near as much of a priority to you as it is to us."
#####
The fireplace in the Floo Access Room at the Boneyard flared up as one after another five figures came through. Hermione, Susan, then Daphne all stepped out and quickly moved to the side, small smiles on their lips as the fire flared a fourth time and Harry came staggering out, stumbling several times before gravity won out over balance and he fell to the floor, rolling several times in a tangle of arms legs and sword scabbard.
"Ouch," he groaned as Amelia stepped through and a loud barking laugh echoed through the room.
The looked up, Harry still groaning as he picked himself up off the floor to find Sirius sitting on the sofa across the room where Harry and Susan had once landed back in their first year. The former convict had collapsed onto his side on the sofa, laughing loudly and Harry growled under his breath, stomping over to shove Sirius off the sofa and onto the floor where he continued to laugh for a few moments longer.
By the time he stopped, he was gasping for breath, red in the face, and had tears in his eyes as he looked up at his Godson from his new spot on the floor.
"Just like your dad, Pup," he gasped out. "Old James never did get a handle on Floo travel either, no matter how much we all tried to help him."
Harry glared at the man for a moment before it broke into a small smile and he reached out to help Sirius to his feet. As soon as the old Marauder had his legs under him he pulled his Godson into a brief hug, patting Harry on the back several times before he pulled back and held the boy out at arm's length, looking him up and down.
"You're looking good, Pup. Amelia's definitely been feeding you right."
"She's been taking really good care of me," Harry told him.
"When you're not trying to get yourself killed," Amelia cut in, glaring half-heartedly at her ward who only gave her a sheepish grin in return.
"It's not my fault," he insisted, and Sirius laughed again.
"So, they finally let you out of St. Mungo's?" Harry asked as they started through the house toward the kitchen.
Sirius grimaced, his face twisting into a distasteful expression.
"Yeah, bloody healers had me there for months repairing the damage from my little island vacation. But," he stepped away and held his arms out to his sides, turning in a circle so they could see all sides of him, "the results were definitely worth it, however much I was bored to tears and wanted to escape."
Truer words had likely never been spoken, in Harry's opinion. The emaciated figure of his Godfather was no more and he once again more closely resembled the photo in the Quibbler article from his days as an Auror, if perhaps not as solid as he was then. He'd put on a considerable amount of weight. His eyes no longer had the sunken appearance nor did he have the waxy complexion and his hair, once matted and filthy and reaching past his elbows was clean and had been cut so that it reached just past his shoulders. Sirius currently had it tied back into a tail at the nape of his neck.
He looked healthy, if a bit pale, still, and he looked happy. If one looked close, however, one could still see a slightly haunted look in his dark eyes. Something that would probably never go away, if truth be told. The long term effects of the Dementors would haunt the man for the rest of his life, but he appeared to be making great strides in his recovery, and that was good news to Harry.
"Should I wonder why you were sitting here waiting for us, Black?" Amelia asked as they settled around the table, tea and coffee appearing with a quiet pop.
"Well they let me out last week, and I've been in meeting's since with the Ministry and trying to get my family home liveable." He pulled another face. "Awful place, really, but I don't have anywhere else to go right now, really, and the house needed a lot of work as it's been abandoned since delightful mother passed away a few years back." The sarcasm in his voice when he said 'delightful' was extremely evident and the teens exchanged a look but no one asked the obvious question.
"So what happened with all the meetings?" Hermione asked.
Sirius' face broke out into a broad grin. "Well… aside from the compensation promised for my time abroad, the Minister also saw fit to throw in a little gift." He turned his attention to Harry. "From what I hear, you're seeker on the Gryffindor team, right?" he asked, and Harry nodded, setting the salt shaker aside after adding his usual pinch to his coffee.
"Yeah, made the team in my first year, actually."
Sirius blinked at that. "First year? Really?"
"Youngest Seeker in a century," Harry told him proudly and all three girls rolled their eyes. They knew Harry loved the game, and Susan was a Quidditch fan, but they did not love how often their bond mate wound up injured because of it.
"We'll have to discuss how that happened later, Pup. For now, I hope you guys keep the first weekend in August free because we have tickets to sit in the top box at this years Quidditch World Cup. Old Fudge was extremely apologetic for what happened, and I'm willing to bet he's hoping to get some good publicity by having us in the box with him. It's definitely a political move but… top box seats at the World Cup! I couldn't really turn those down, now could I?"
"Yes," all three girls said in a monotone unison that had Harry and Sirius gaping at them in abject horror.
"Bite your tongues, girls," Sirius burst out. "Them's fighting words right there."
"I'm pretty sure they'd mop the floor with you, Padfoot," Harry snickered and then ducked as Sirius threw a sugar cube at him.
"I'll have you know I was a top Auror in my day, Pup," Sirius shot at him in an aggrieved tone.
"How long ago was that, old man?"
"Old?! Pup! Get back here…"
Before Sirius had even started speaking Harry was already out of his seat and bolting for the back door. Seconds later a large black dog bounded after him, barking excitedly as both vanished outside.
Hermione, Daphne, and Susan sighed and exchanged a look before they stood, collecting their tea as they went.
"We'll keep an eye on them," Hermione offered in a long suffering tone of voice and Amelia smiled, waving them on as she finished her tea before she headed upstairs to her office.
Stepping in, she closed the door behind her, and moved over to a cabinet standing behind her desk. Opening the door, she retrieved a glass and a half empty bottle of Ogden's from within. Something told her she was going to want a drink at hand when she read the scroll tucked securely into her robes inner pocket.
Sitting down at her desk she poured three fingers into the glass and set the bottle firmly aside before she pulled out the scroll, unrolled it, and laid it out flat on her desk.
The Hydra will rise
Four strong and immortal
Scarred and broken, the sword will fight
Scarred and determined, knowledge will save
Scarred and damaged, the shield will protect
Scarred and loyal, the faithful will heal
The sword will break
Knowledge will fall
The shield will shatter
The faithful will suffer
Death will come for The Head
Bonds of the soul will revive
As the Foe returns, The Hydra must choose
"Son of a bitch," she swore as she reached the end. Reaching out she grasped the glass and downed it's contents before placing it on the corner of her desk and she rose to put the bottle back in the cabinet, locking it after closing the door before she returned to her desk and pulled out ink, quill, and parchment as she started breaking down the words.
"The Hydra must refer to the four of them what with 'four strong' but immortal?" She shook her head. "Harry died and returned to life, that's gotta be what it's referring to but… how did that happen? Harry can't honestly be immortal, that kind of magic is…" She stopped and shuddered. Only the Sorcerer's Stone had ever offered anything close to immortality, and even then it wasn't true immortality. Longevity was the best description. Someone with the elixir could still be killed, so the public information told. It supposedly kept the Flamel's young long past when they should have died of old age but wasn't said to grant any type of true immortality.
"Or did it?" she wondered aloud. "Not like that's something Nicholas would want to advertise. It was already sought after as it was just for the elixir and the ability to create as much gold as one could want. Harry didn't encounter any of the elixir itself, though, only the stone. So that couldn't explain why he survived, or revived." Her eyes moved to the bottom of the page. "'Bonds of the soul will revive'," she muttered. "Could it be their bond that saved him? How?"
She let out a frustrated sigh and moved back to the top.
"The sword, knowledge, shield, and faithful… Harry, Hermione, Daphne, and Susan. That fits them to a tee. Harry, always the first to jump into the fray. Hermione with her memory and love of knowledge and information. Daphne can be just as fiercely protective as any of them. And, hell, Susan." She thought back to when Susan talked to her about the night that she and Daphne admitted the loved each other. "Daphne said she was loyal and faithful. She wanted to reward that faith. Dammit, that really is Susan. Loyal and faithful."
For the next hour she scratched out pages of notes, studying the text and occasionally throwing glances at the liquor cabinet behind her but she kept it firmly locked, focusing her attention on the words in front of her. Finally, a knock came at her door and she looked up for a moment before hiding the parchment beneath some work papers and called out, "Come ahead."
The door opened, revealing Sirius standing their, one hand on the knob and a questioning look in his eyes.
"Everything alright, Amy?" he asked, coming into the room.
She let out a long sigh and leaned back in her chair for a moment, eyes fixed on her desk before she looked up at him.
"Close the door Sirius and come sit down. You're going to want to hear this."
#####
The house was obviously old and poorly cared for. Sheets covered much of the furniture though a couch and an armchair had been uncovered and a fire burned merrily in the large fireplace that stood on one wall. One tall, broad shouldered figure stood behind the armchair and just to the right of it, hands clasped together behind his back, his shoulder length black hair tied loosely back.
"Has my loyal follower completed the task I set to him?" a high, eerie voice asked from the armchair and the standing figure nodded.
"Yes, my Lord. I received a message from him while you were resting this evening. He says that he managed to hide approximately two hundred of them around the grounds. The information you extracted from Bertha, coupled with what I was able to bring you proved to be precisely what he needed to accomplish the task."
"Was there any doubt?" came that high voice again and the figure shook his head.
"No, my Lord."
"Yes, poor Bertha Jorkins. I did quite have to destroy her mind before I was able to recover the information that had been hidden from her, but oh, the fruit born from that effort. This year will mark my triumphant return, once I have the boy."
"It is only too bad that she wasn't of any further use to you afterward, my Lord. She could have been ideally placed to execute your plans."
"You will be sufficient for the purposes I require."
"As you say, my Lord."
"Did you properly dispose of her body?"
"Yes, my Lord. She will never be found."
"Good. After the festivities, that is when the real festivities will begin. For too long have people rested on their laurels in the peace my absence has caused these last thirteen years. It is time I remind them what real terror means."
Behind the figure, a door slid open a couple of feet and a large snake, easily twelve feet long and as big around as a man slithered into the room, a loud hissing escaping it as it moved over and coiled up on the floor next to the chair.
"Nagini has interesting news," the cold voice said.
"My Lord?"
"Yes, indeed," said the voice from the chair. "According to my lovely Nagini, there is an old Muggle standing right outside this room, listening to every word we say."
The figure didn't hesitate, he turned and strode quickly across the room, yanking the door open to show an elderly man holding a cane in one sweaty hand standing right outside the door.
"Invite him inside. Where are your manners?"
Reaching out, the figure grabbed the old man by the shoulder of his worn jacket and yanked him into the room. The old man stumbled, wincing as he favored his left leg, struggling to keep his balance from the rough treatment he was receiving.
Where the two eventually stood, the old man couldn't see the owner of the voice sitting in the chair before the fire. The snake, on the other hand, had moved and was curled up on the rotting hearth rug, like some horrible travesty of a pet dog sitting at its Master's feet.
The figure backed away from the old man and, though visibly shaken, the man tightened his grip on his cane and straightened up to his full, if slightly stooped, height.
"You heard everything, I assume, muggle?"
"What's that you're calling me?" the man said in a reedy voice, glaring ineffectually at the back of the ancient armchair.
"Muggle," said the voice softly. "It means that you are not a wizard."
"Don't know nothin' about those magic acts," he said, his voice growing steadier. "All I know is I've heard enough to interest the police tonight. Murder. Planning something that sounds like a terrorist attack. My wife knows I'm up here, so if I don't come back she'll-"
"You have no wife," said the cold voice. "Nobody knows you are here. You told no one that you were coming. You cannot possibly lie to Lord Voldemort, muggle. I always know."
"Is that right?" the old man said, taking a step forward, anger filling his voice. "Lord is it? I have to say, I don't think much of your manners, my Lord. Turn 'round and face me like a man, or do you just have this bloke do everything for you like some great pansy?"
"But I am not a man. Not a man at all as I am so much more than that. However… why not? I will face you… Cyril, come turn my chair around."
The figure moved forward and grasped the chair, carefully spinning it in place and in moments the chair was facing the old man who stumbled back a few steps, a look of horror on his face as his cane fell to the floor with a loud clattering sound that echoed throughout the room. His mouth opened and a scream echoed up from somewhere deep inside him at what he beheld. He was screaming so loudly that he never heard the words spoken by the twisted thing resting on the tattered, rotting cushion as it raised a wand in his direction.
There was a flash of green light, a rushing sound, and the old man fell, dead before he hit the floor as a high eerie laugh rang out loudly around them.
Two hundred miles away, Harry Potter jerked awake with a start.
#####
One morning, a week to the day after Harry's 14th birthday, the door to his room was flung open at a quarter to five in the morning and three exuberant girls bounded through the portal.
"HAPPY ANNIV…" The cheerful shout from three different voices trailed off as they found the room empty. It didn't even appear that his bed had been slept in.
"Where is he?" Susan wondered aloud.
"Isn't it too early, for him to be out on his run?" Daphne asked.
"I thought so. Where do you think he might be, Aunt Amy?"
Amelia poked her head in from the hall at the sound of Hermione's question. "Well," she mused, blue eyes scanning the room that was entirely too neat and tidy for a teenage boy, "what's the one room in the house that Harry seems to spend the most of his waking hours in?" she asked.
The three girls thought about that for a moment before, as one, they came up with the only possible answer.
"Kitchen," they said in near unison.
"Let's go check."
The four of them made their way through the house, still in their night clothes and slippers, and slid into the kitchen in a great clatter of pounding feet and chattering voices.
"Harry!" Hermione called when they spotted him sitting at the table in the kitchen. He was dressed in a simple pair of black sweat pants and a black short sleeved t-shirt.
"Morning everyone," he said, absently. He didn't really seem like he had seen them. The girls glanced at each other, wondering at his strange behavior but he had his shields firmly in place and nothing bled over to them through their bond. He had both hands wrapped around a large ceramic coffee mug as he stared absently at the wall across from him. Daphne idly noted that it was the Triumph Bonneville mug that she'd given him on his first day officially living at Bones manor with Amelia as his guardian. A 'welcome home' gift. He looked relaxed but the expression on his face said clearly that he wasn't entirely in the room with them.
"Harry?" Daphne slid into a seat next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. She frowned as a glimmer of what he felt bled through their bond at the physical contact. Fear. Worry. Confusion.
He jumped, as if startled by her presence and those emotions suddenly vanished as he shoved them aside, focusing his attention on Amelia and his bond mates instead of whatever was bothering him. "Oh, hey!" Harry smiled, brightly. "I didn't notice you guys coming in."
"Yeah, you were off in your own little world again," Susan pointed out.
"What's wrong?" Daphne asked, frowning in concern and he offered her a small smile as he shook his head.
"Just a bad dream. A really weird, bad dream."
"Did you want to talk about it?" Hermione asked, moving closer to the table.
"No. No, I really just want to forget about this one it was…" He trailed off for a moment and a shudder ran through him. "It was just… unpleasant." He drained his cup and leaned back, looking over at them. "What's everyone doing up so early?"
"It's your Anniversary," Susan said, cutting Hermione off before she could push him.
He blinked and glanced at the calendar hanging by the back door for a moment before a broad smile broke out on his face.
"Happy Anniversary, Harry," Amelia said, leaning over to hug the young boy from behind as the girls each leaned in to kiss his cheek and offer their own greetings.
"Two years ago, today," he said his smile growing even broader, sheer joy bleeding through their link to fill the girls. "I still can't wrap my brain around people actually wanting me." He lifted one hand, placing it on the one Amelia was resting on his shoulder and squeezed it briefly.
"Any plans for the day?" he asked, and rose from his seat to refill his mug.
"Nothing in particular. We just wanted to spend time with you, our family, together. Tomorrow is the World Cup, so today should be a calm, relaxing day."
"A quiet day at home?" He took a sip of his coffee and grinned. "Sounds perfect to me."
He came over to the table and gently kissed each girls cheek, pulling Amelia into a real hug for a moment, before he went back to the counter that ran along one wall and turned, leaning his back against it with his mug of coffee held in one hand as he watched them, something glimmering in his eyes that they couldn't quite identify.
"Harry?" Susan asked after several minutes of companionable silence.
"Hmmm?" he hummed, questioningly, lowering the mug from his lips.
"I was just curious, but, why do you spend so much time in the kitchen?"
He blinked, surprise running through him. His eyes lifted to the ceiling as he thought back over his time at the Boneyard. Did he really spend that much time in the kitchen? He realized, with some surprise, that he did. He did most of his summer homework at the table, sat and enjoyed a cup of tea or his coffee and just thought about the world around him and the people that had entered into his life since he returned to the wizarding world. Most of the conversations he'd had with Amy took place at the kitchen table over a cup as well.
With Fourth year looming ahead of them and who knew what adventures awaiting, he knew that the quiet peace of the kitchen had only become more important to him that summer than it had ever been before. Especially with the strange dream he'd had the night before. He shook his head a moment later, trying to dispel the disturbing images he'd seen.
They were all watching him in silence, letting him work through his thoughts, knowing that he would either speak, or not, in his own time. The girls could feel the same curiosity in each of them and a glance at her Aunt told Susan that even Amelia was interested.
He set his mug down on the counter and suddenly pushed off of it with a thrust of his hips.
"Anyone hungry?" he asked, abruptly.
They all blinked, staring at him in some small measure of surprise before slowly nodding and he grinned again, that boyish smile they so rarely saw, burdened as he was by other concerns. Dark Lords, basilisks, prophecies, criminals, and Dementors left one little time to truly be young, and Harry was much older than his years.
"Time for breakfast, then. Omelets okay with everyone?"
"I'm sure Binky could do something else if you want Harry," Amelia pointed out.
"Who said Binky was cooking?" He smirked, then, and walked away, disappearing into the pantry while the four ladies looked at each other in surprise.
"Is he going to…"
"I think so."
"Should we help?"
Hermione shook her head at Susan. "I think this is one of those moments where we need to just pay attention, love."
They settled into seats at the table, just as Harry returned from the pantry, his arms laden with packages and ingredients that he spread out on the counter with a precision and swiftness that startled the girls.
"Have you ever heard the phrase, 'the Hearth is the heart of the home'?" he asked as he collected several frying pans and turned on the stove. Strips of bacon were laid into one of the pans which startled to sizzle quietly.
"Yes, it was something my grandmother used to say frequently," Amelia said and Harry nodded as he grabbed a large bowl.
"I remember reading that, somewhere, years ago. I don't really know, precisely, where the phrase started," he said. "But I always liked the sound of it. And I built myself an idea around it, over time." He cracked an egg into the bowl with one hand and turned his head, winking at Susan for a moment before he threw the empty shells over his shoulder. Hermione squeaked as they headed right toward her and made to dive out of the way, but the egg shells vanished with a small pop before they made it five feet.
"The hearth is the floor of the fireplace, or the space directly around it where people would gather for warmth, conversation, or to prepare meals over the flames," he continued, cracking more eggs and tossing the empty shells in random directions. Each one vanished before they got very far and Susan smiled as she realized that Binky was working in the background, helping Harry, but not interfering with his use of the kitchen. She wondered how he managed to convince the old house elf to let him cook? Hell, how long had he been using the kitchen to cook without them even knowing about it?
"Before the idea of an entire room just for preparing and cooking food was thought of, that was part of the hearths purpose. Aside from supplying warmth and light, it was used to cook over. These days, the kitchen has replaced the hearth of old in a lot of homes." He sprinkled a bit of pepper into the bowl of eggs and added a splash of milk before he started whisking. While he beat the eggs, he turned, leaning his back against the countertop again so he was facing them, bowl tucked under one arm while he talked.
"In the kitchen, that's where food is kept and prepared, and I think my time at the Dursleys taught me a few things about the value of food." He shook his head when faces fell around the room. "Nothing negative," he assured them. "I don't mean not getting enough to eat or anything else that is now far in my past and can no longer hurt me. I mean a thought process, a way of looking at food and cooking and time spent in the kitchen." His eyes became distant as he lost himself briefly in contemplation but his hands never ceased moving as he turned back to the counter and removed the pan with the bacon from the burner.
He drained off the grease and placed the bacon onto a cutting board. A kitchen knife flashed in his hand, spinning expertly between nimble fingers before he started chopping the bacon into tiny pieces.
"In the kitchen, to me, at least, it's not just food that's created. It's not just a place to heat up nutrients to keep the biological machines of our bodies running. There's a magic to cooking, to preparing a meal. Even more, to cooking with or for friends and family and loved ones. Food is more than just fuel, it's an experience, if it's done right. It fires all of your senses. A well presented meal can be visually pleasing. Taste, smell, texture, even the sound of something sizzling in a pan or the crack when you break the caramelized sugar over top of a crème brulee. Hot and cold, sweet and salty, sharp, tangy. The tastes and smells most overwhelm but it's the entire presentation that makes it more than just something to fill our bellies."
He stirred the bacon into the bowl of eggs and then poured out a measure of the mixture into four pans.
Amelia allowed herself a broad smile, pleased to be included in the rare look into the mind of Harry Potter, and as he continued to speak, she found herself marveling, once again, at his strength and resilience, to come out of the torture he'd endured with his relatives damaged, but able to heal.
"Yes, I didn't get to experience much before Hogwarts. But I read, and I learned, and, among other things, I thought of all the things that cooking meant to me. Since the Dursleys made me do nearly all of the cooking for them as soon as I could reach the stove, it became a way for me to take some power from them, to make it mine. A small victory for myself. Cooking made me think of what family meant. What friendship meant. I determined that the kitchen truly is the heart of the home now, and a home is a place where your family and heart resides.
"Kitchens are a place where memories are made. Where grandparents bake cookies with their grandchildren on Christmas morning. Where parents comfort daughters and sons fresh off their first breakup. It's where people celebrate a new baby or a wedding or an anniversary."
As he spoke he chopped chives and mushrooms, throwing the mushrooms into another pan with a few pats of butter and he quickly sautéed them for a few minutes before adding a measure to the eggs. His next words were spoken carefully, a red glow in his cheeks and he kept his focus intently on what he was doing as he talked.
"It's where newlyweds fumble and stumble around each other, dancing about as they cook their first meal together as husband and wife. While they move around the kitchen, there are stolen kisses and shared glances and touches."
A flush bloomed on the cheeks of all three girls as they listened to his voice wash over them. Each could easily picture themselves within the image he painted and their hearts beat just a little faster as they considered the possible future that image represented.
"As they go on in their lives, if all goes well, perhaps they learn to work together, they may become seamless in their motions, moving about without ever getting in each other's way. As long as the love and care is still there.
"Meals are prepared in the kitchen that bring families together, that celebrate the joys in life and offer comfort on the low points. Humans are social creatures by nature," he added as he carefully folded over the four omelets and slipped them onto plates, "and the kitchen is the social center, the hub of a home."
He added shredded cheese to the top of each omelet with a sprinkle of chives and set a plate in front of his girls and Amelia, who slid gracefully into a seat, a small smile still turning her lips. Moments later, each had a glass of orange juice and a mug of coffee or tea, according to their preferences, resting by their plates.
Harry set the pans in the sink and wiped down the counters with a rag. Binky popped the leftover ingredients back to the pantry and Harry turned and picked up his coffee again, leaning against the counter as he took a long drink, finishing off the mug.
He smiled, somewhat self consciously as Susan, Daphne, and Hermione stared at him, shocked expressions on their faces. It was still exceedingly rare that Harry opened up so much of himself, and none of them had seen it coming, despite the great improvements he'd made with them.
"Anyway. That's why I spend so much time in here, I think," he muttered in a mildly embarrassed tone. "I guess I'm looking forward to that day when it'll be my kitchen, in my home and I'm sharing it with a family entirely of my own."
"You're already doing exactly that, Harry," Amelia told him in a gentle tone. "But I understand what you mean. One day, you'll be married, and some lucky witch," or witches, she added mentally, "is going to help make your kitchen that center of the home you'll build together. Of that, I have no doubt."
He smiled again and stroked the scar behind his jaw, nervously. He glanced at his watch and cursed under his breath. "Gotta get to my run if I want to get it out of the way early. See you all later." He made his way down the length of the table, again, kissing each girl on the cheek and giving Amelia a quick hug before he bolted out of the room, leaving three bemused witches behind with one rather amused witch watching them.
"You know," Susan said in a contemplative tone, staring at the stove where Harry had so recently been standing. "I really hate it when he does things like that."
Hermione snorted. "What? Be just so damn sweet and adorable you just can't help but want to shove him up against a wall and snog him until he forgets his own name?"
"Exactly! But we can't because he's just not quite ready for that, just yet. He might be close to it, but not quite yet."
"And what's more, I would be willing to bet vital portions of my anatomy that he has absolutely no idea what he just did to us with that little display of his." Hermione shook her head. "And this is the guy that keeps insisting he has no understanding of what love really is? I know he can be an idiot at times, especially where his own safety is involved, but I never once thought he was stupid, before."
Hermione and Susan frowned for a few moments when their frustrated contemplations were suddenly broken by the sound of cutlery scraping across flatware. They turned to find that Daphne was already half way through with her omelet as she raised another bite to her lips.
"What?" she asked, a little defensively, after she finished swallowing what was in her mouth. "Trust me, I feel exactly the same way. After listening to that… dammit, how does he make cooking breakfast look and sound so bloody… sensual?" she burst out, causing Amelia to chuckle quietly at the three of them.
"Anyway," Daphne continued, "I know exactly what you guys mean, but… I'm hungry, and I'm not letting this food get cold. You've got to try it, I swear this is one of the best omelets I've ever eaten in my life."
Hermione blinked. So lost had she been in Harry's words, in the glimpse into his mind and heart that he'd given them, she hadn't even paused to wonder if he was actually any good at cooking. With the ease he'd moved around the kitchen, it was obvious he knew what he was doing, so she figured anything he cooked would at least be palatable. With a shrug she and Susan both cut a piece of their omelet and popped it into their mouths.
"See what I mean?" Daphne said, a smug grin turning her lips.
"Son of a…" Susan breathed. "That boy has been holding out on us."
