A/N: Chapter Warnings for; Explicit language, explicit depiction of torture, violence, gore and explicit language.
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Next Update Saturday, 2nd May.
Chapter Four; The Real One's Much More Gory
...
"I guess you think you know this story.
You don't. The real one's much more gory.
The phoney one, the one you know,
Was cooked up years and years ago,
And made to sound all soft and sappy
just to keep the children happy."
-Roald Dahl (Cinderella)
...
No one talks during dinner, and Harry feels responsible for the uncomfortable glances and subdued dialogue around the table. He doesn't eat much either, even though he hasn't had anything to eat since that piece of toast that morning, and the chocolate bulks Sirius and Mrs. Weasley forced down his throat.
Mrs. Weasley's cooking is, as always, impeccable and Harry slightly regrets his lack of appetite. Sirius and Remus have decided to give him his space and are sitting together now, silently whispering amongst themselves as Ron and Hermione do the same on the other side of the table but keep throwing him a glance every once in a while as well.
Harry's still mad at them, so even though he has missed the two of them all summer, he stifles the urge to gaze back, and instead pushes his food around sullenly, eyeing the burnt area on the table where his accidental magic had acted up. No one has bothered to fix it.
Sirius's words ring in his head a few times, with phrases such as 'resistance against you-know-who' and 'Dumbledore insisting on absolute secrecy' bolded in the mental speech. It makes some amount of sense but Harry is too mad and irrational to accept it as such. He's giving himself some leeway to be petulant, he knows how ridiculous he must look but he doesn't care. Harry's tired. He really is.
Bill and Charlie are sitting on either side of him, with the woman named Tonks and Ginny across him, Ginny is almost on the verge of passing out as she silently chortles at Tonks' impressions, Harry very pointedly ignores them too.
Finally, Molly Weasley takes pity on him after she's finished attending to everyone's needs. She comes up behind his chair, her warm hands settling on his shoulder, and slowly leans to whisper in his ear.
"Why don't Ron and Hermione show you to your room?" she says and then raises her voice. "You're bunking with Ron, and Nymphadora kindly deposited your trunk there already." she squeezes his shoulders and Harry nods, feeling mildly guilty that he's upsetting her.
Tonks's hair flares a deep purple as Mrs. Weasley mentions her full name, but she doesn't do anything other than mildly frown.
Mrs. Weasley smiles. "Great! I'll send you up a plate too, in case you felt like eating later. Ronnie does it all the time,"
"Mom!" Ron exclaims but then quickly ducks his head as he catches Harry's eyes.
"None of that, young man! Now hurry up and get Harry to his room, the poor boy looks exhausted."
"She's just doing it because there's a meeting," Fred stage-whispers to his twin and he nods fervently.
"She's basically throwing us out," George agrees with a dramatically wounded expression, a hand over his chest, and Mrs. Weasley huffs.
"Stop it, you two! And to bed with you as well, we have a lot of cleaning to do tomorrow."
"A meeting?" Harry asks for the first time since dinner has started, prompting Remus to look up from Sirius to smile at him. "Yes," he says mildly, he looks much more relaxed now. Harry vaguely notices how younger he looks when he's around Sirius.
"Nothing to worry about, just routine reports," he continues and Sirius nods along, giving Harry a small, barely noticeable wink before Remus steals his attention again.
Mrs. Weasley sends Ron and Hermione trailing in front of Harry in a walk of shame, with Ron holding a plate for Harry if he 'happens to be hungry' later. They don't try talking to Harry, as if they know better than that, and Harry's glad. He might have let out the remaining dredges of his anger on them if they did.
The others, especially Ginny, give him a wide berth as well, and Harry's left feeling a little isolated as he glances at the severed house-elf heads that are mounted on the stairwell walls, and Crookshanks tangled in his steps as he walks. He eyes Sirius's mom's portrait as well, shuddering to think about the kind of house his godfather had been brought up in, which isn't a pretty image at all.
The second floor is not much different from the first, the hallway is a bit wider, and there are about seven doors, separating each room. Ron and Hermione silently guide him to the third one from the left.
"We do have a bathroom here," Ron says, quietly, and unlike his usual self. "But there's another one at the end of the corridor too, if you, you know…" he trails off and sets Harry's plate on the desk.
Hermione awkwardly sits at the edge of an unmade bed that must be Ron's, and Harry leans back against the closed door, just taking them in. They looked… kind of pathetic.
"Nice holidays?" he asks them, not meaning to be overly sarcastic as he does.
They flinch. "Harry… you need to realize," Ron says, joining Hermione on his bed. "We didn't know the dementor attack was on you."
"He's right, we kept asking them what was going on and they didn't tell us anything, and everyone was just freaking out, Sirius was beside himself… he couldn't contact Remus or get any news from anyone… it was a mess." Hermione finishes lamely, slumping on the bed.
"I was really worried about you," Harry says, watching them flush. "Your letters were so weird and distorted, I thought something had happened to you guys, something bad and you weren't telling me...I was wrong to worry, it seems."
"We were worried about you too, Harry, you're not being fair!" Hermione's hands ball into fists, her hair frizzes around her face.
"At least we wrote something to you! You never told us about yourself! You just kept asking about us, and we couldn't answer those because Dumbledore made us promise not to tell you a thing!"
Harry scowls. "This isn't my fault,"
"And it's not our fault either," Ron says. "It just had to happen. We're sorry that we were cooped here and you were with the muggles, if it's any consolation, I don't think we had that much fun either...the other day I cleaned so much that I couldn't feel my hands for the rest of it."
"He's being dramatic," Hermione says, rolling her eyes irritably.
"We're being used as manual labor, Hermione. You're just drooling because Sirius said you could use the books if you helped in the cleaning,"
"That's outrageous!"
"No, that's you!"
"Stop arguing, you guys," Harry says and heads for his trunk, but then changes his mind and heads for the bed instead, dropping down between his friends with a loud sigh.
"I missed you," he says and then flops on his back, he is soon joined by Hermione plopping down next to him, her hair brushing against Harry's face, and then Ron too, a bit awkwardly, on his other side. They all watch the bed's canopy as Harry quickly gives them a short summary of his summer holidays and the dementor attack. He learns that his 'kidnapper' had been Kingsley Shacklebolt, an Order member and a ministry Auror.
"Huh," Harry says, "I did hear Tonks mentioning a Kingsley."
"They're Auror Partners," Ron says, "Apparently, really good together on the field too. Kingsley used to work with Sirius, like...way back during the first war."
"Wait, seriously?" he didn't know that Sirius was an Auror.
Hermione hums. "We've heard Sirius mention it in passing. He doesn't like talking about his past much. He talks about you a lot, though."
This bit of information fills Harry's chest with a warm glow, and he has a sudden image of imaginary Sirius scoffing at him. 'Really, you're choosing that guy?' he jabs his thumb at Sirius, eyes narrowed. Harry manages not to snort.
Harry and the other two lay on the bed for a bit more before Hermione mentions sleep. "I'm gonna do some light reading first," she says as she gets up. "You guys should sleep too," she gives Harry a firm hug. "You look exhausted."
"Her room is right across ours, and she's bunking with Ginny," Ron says as she closes the door behind her. "So don't be alarmed if she barges in tomorrow at the crack of dawn to study here. It's her new thing."
He and Ron mess around with some exploding snap cards but then decide to retreat too. Harry feels exhausted and glad that Hedwig is already sleeping in her cage, he keeps in mind to let her out tomorrow.
He eats about two spoonfuls of the food on the desk as Ron changes into his pajamas and then changes into his own as well.
"Good night Harry," Ron says around a huge yawn breaking his face.
Harry smiles at him and clicks the lights off. "Good night Ron,"
"I'm glad you're finally here," the red-haired boy groggily mutters and Harry's smile softens.
"Me too."
##
He is back in the graveyard. He knows that place better than the back of his hand now, cold and desolate as always. As if the life is sucked out of it, the soil is hard under his toes and the grass a dead, lifeless grey. As he looks up, there are flashes of light. And everything is so horrifying in its familiarity that it takes him a while to notice what's wrong with the image.
Cedric's eyes aren't lifeless, staring into nothingness the way only dead people do.
They are still wide open, unblinking, but this time in pure, withering terror. He's still on the ground, just like always. But he isn't still.
Harry never knew there would come a day where he'd prefer him like that.
But as he sees Bellatrix twirl her wand over him, as he sees him writhe, bending and twisting and clawing at the ground with cracked, bloody nails, mouth open in a silent scream, blood bubbling out of the corners, trickling down his face, Harry finds himself wishing to see the familiar blank face.
Corpses cannot do the thing Cedric is doing now. Suffering.
There is a sharp, unhinged laugh echoing in the air as Bellatrix waves her wand above Cedric's body over and over again. Sick pleasure is plastered all over her face.
And then Cedric screams. And he should have been screaming long ago, given the state he is in, there was no way he could have stayed so silent, and it had been so disturbing. All that writhing and pain to be endured mutely, so quietly.
But the sound that erupts from his throat is not his own. It's feminine and Harry recognizes it before he can finish his half-formed thoughts, incoherent and loud.
Mrs. Malfoy.
##
When Harry jolts awake, his fist is already in his mouth. Force of habit, he thinks. But he's glad that none of his screams had disturbed Ron. Or anyone else, for that matter.
At least his scar isn't hurting this time.
Peeling the sweat-soaked blanket off of him, he swings his legs over the bed, sitting up as his legs touch the cold floor. At this rate, he's going to have permanent bite-shaped scars on his hand.
He looks at the door, swallows harshly, and walks over to it barefoot. The chill of the floor is almost comforting.
When he touches the doorknob, he's consumed by an irrational rush of fear that it would be locked. It can't be, of course not. No one here would lock him in, besides, Ron is here with him.
Harry almost doesn't want to try and see if he's right. But the walls are closing in again and he doesn't want to wake Ron up.
He twists the doorknob. There's the unmistakable click of the door unlocking, and he pulls it open. The air outside the room isn't any less cold, or damp, or gloomy. But it feels better nonetheless.
He makes his way down the stairs, aimlessly. He doesn't know what he wants to do, but he sure as hell isn't going back to sleep. Somehow he feels this part of his nights has been easier to deal with at the Dursleys. There he knew he was locked up with nowhere to go… here, he'd rather die but stay in that room.
Right before he enters the kitchen, though, he hears noises. He freezes. What time is it? Who else is awake at this time? Frowning, he steps closer, almost completely pressing his ear to the door. He can distinguish two voices, talking.
Crouching down, he puts his ear right next to the keyhole. He knows he is being nosy, but goddamnit, he's been kept in the dark for so long.
It's Tonks and Bill, he realises. The voices are more discernible now, and he can make out what they're saying.
"- who he is," Tonks is saying.
"Well, Argent is too much of a valuable resource, it's better for everyone involved if his identity was kept a secret, isn't it?" Bill replies.
"Doesn't make me any less curious. What kind of a code name is Argent? He could have chosen something more badass."
"Really? The guy is a skilled double agent, probably twice our age, and his name is what you're worried about?"
"It matters!"
"More than the information he's giving us? C'mon, it's a perfectly fine name, Nymphadora." Harry can't see Bill, but he's pretty sure that he's sporting a smirk.
"Whatever," Tonks grumbles, "Don't call me tha-"
"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"
Harry jumps and almost falls back on his butt when he hears Moody's thundering voice. Had he been in the kitchen the whole time?
"Moody! How long were you...?" Tonks says, her voice slightly alarmed as if she too, had been caught off guard by his sudden yell. There were very few who weren't.
"During times such as these," Moody sounds just as gruff as he always does, but his voice still sounds oddly strained. "Constant vigilance is even more important than ever!"
Then the door blasts open, and Harry gapes at the three people in the room. The phrase 'deer in headlights' has never fit anyone better.
He slowly straightens up, flushing, "Uhh… I was thirsty?"
Tonks and Bill are gaping right back at him, looking kind of sheepish. Mad-Eye is reclining on a, probably transfigured, armchair, his non-prosthetic leg in white bandages.
Harry takes in Tonks' and Bill's appearances, they both look slightly haggard and almost as tired as Harry feels. He wonders how he looks.
His eyes go to the large clock hanging on the wall, ticking almost ominously, the pendulum below is swinging back and forth in a monotonous rhythm. 3:40. It was almost four in the morning. What were they doing up?
But he already knows, doesn't he? They'd probably had more reason than him to be awake, and judging by Moody's leg and their looks, they'd probably gone out on some kind of 'mission' and returned recently. He almost wants to ask if anyone was seriously hurt, but then changes his mind. They wouldn't be talking like that if someone were, and they wouldn't bother telling him if that were the case either.
Moody, unsurprisingly, is the first one to speak, "Well, would you look at that?" he looks as if he wants to smack both Bill and Tonks upside the head. "The kid overheard you two yapping."
"It wasn't as if we knew," Bill mumbles, being the first one who looks away from Harry's tense form.
"You shouldn't have to know!" Moody firmly taps his finger to his temple. "It's all about constant -"
"Yes, we know," Tonks cuts him off and then smiles at Harry. "Wotcher Harry," she says with a small smile, and Harry hesitantly nods back at her.
"Why are you awake?" Bill asks him, mildly bewildered.
"That's not what you should be asking, Weasley! You should be asking how much he's heard!"
Harry's mouth falls open again and he wrings his hands, he thinks about lying, but the thought is fleeting and not processed at all. He's a terrible liar.
"So?" Moody grunts. "How much did you hear, Potter?"
Harry imagines, in Moody's place, just for a moment, Barty Crouch Jr. instead, licking his lips and trembling with excitement. He shakes his head to expel the image out of his head.
"Not much," he mutters, looking down at his toes. "I just came down. I'm sorry."
"It's alright Harry," Tonks says and waves him closer with her hand.
"It's really not," Moody grumbles but quietens down otherwise.
"Insomnia, huh?" says Bill, crossing his arms on the kitchen table. "I've heard you had a rough day,"
Well, not exactly heard it, Harry thinks with a flush. Pretty much everyone was there during his outburst just a few hours ago.
"Yeah something like that," he hadn't come here for company, he needs the exact opposite of that, but he figures that he cannot escape that easily just yet. 'Just grab a glass of water and then bail after another apology,' he orders himself. That should be good enough for them.
"Harry here is somewhat of a rebel," Tonks drawls with a teasing smile at Harry as if expecting him to shout 'GUILTY!' with a grin of his own. Instead, Harry's face goes blank for a moment, and then he slowly nods along as he replays Tonks saying something similar in his bedroom. Quickly turning around to look for the glasses, Harry bites his lower lip. He hasn't been in this kitchen long enough to know where they kept the cutlery.
"I don't know about that," Bill replies as Harry rummages through the cupboards. "Mom sings his praises all the time. According to her, Harry's the best-behaved boy she knows."
As Harry turns to raise his eyebrows at Bill, the older boy winks at him. "It's true," he says and points at his dragon fang earring. "She's not exactly a fan of my fashion sense."
"I like it," Harry awkwardly turns and heads for the sink. He needs his water to bolt out of here. Maybe head back to his own room, or hide in the loo until morning, he's not sure which he'd rather do now.
"Oh really?" Bill exchanges a smirk with Tonks who rolls her eyes, "Maybe you should put in a word for me in front of mom? She'd have kittens for sure."
Harry furiously grabs the water tap and thrusts the glass under the rush. He needs to leave, now. He wonders if they can see the colour rising in his cheeks.
"Stop teasing him," Tonks finally says, as she sees Harry's shoulders tense, "It's four in the morning, let him be."
"He doesn't mind," Bill waves her off, Moody is still silently staring at Harry's back.
"I don't mind," Harry hastily replies, closing the tap and drowning half of his glass in one long gulp. Then he fills it again.
Bill gives him a wide grin. "So, seriously," he continues with the same easy-going tone.
"How much did you hear? Do we need to bring out Obliviators?"
"No," Harry closes the tap with a firm shake of his head. "Heard nothing, saw nothing, the kitchen was empty when I came in," against his better judgment, he takes another long swig of his glass. "I was just leaving,"
"Oh, if only mom knew," Bill laughs and then leans back in his seat. "You don't have to be in such a hurry, it's not like we're gonna kill you or anything,"
"William," it's Moody this time, silently growling.
"I'm just saying that we're good company if he cannot sleep." Bill points out, shrugging in a way that jostles his ponytail. "That's why he was sneaking around in the first place, right?"
Harry regards Bill with narrowed eyes. "Maybe," he finally admits. "But I actually should be heading upstairs."
"Alright."
"Potter, hang on," that's Moody, grappling for his cane as he pulls himself to his feet, "I'll walk you up,"
"He's not a baby, Moody, he knows his way up the stairs," Bill snaps, his eyes losing some of their previous humor.
Moody's fake eye swivels unnervingly as he stares at Bill. "The same way he knew his way to the kitchen?"
Bill shrugs and looks away, mumbling a good night to Harry as he and Moody step out. The glass in Harry's hands stays steady but the water sloshes as he deliberately slows his pace for the injured Auror to catch up, Moody throws him a look but doesn't complain.
They're reaching the mounted house-elf heads on the wall before Moody sets his cane in Harry's way.
Harry turns to look at him, "Yes, sir?"
"Do you know that saying, Potter? The one that goes 'Curiosity kills the kneazle'?"
Harry tenses but his face stays passively calm. "Not sure if I do," he says, the cool glass offering some measure of comfort in his hands. Moody grunts.
"Well I'm sure you don't need me to hand feed the meaning to you, lad," he says, after a meaningful pause.
Harry has the urge to drink more water from his glass but holds Moody's eyes instead. "Not at all," he says.
"Don't go snooping in places that don't concern you, boy, knowing too much means the more are the chances of you losing your head. Green tongues and crimson necks, that's another saying right there."
"I'll keep that in mind," Harry turns to leave but hears Moody still grumbling behind him.
"We both know that you won't," the man says, quite gruffly. "It'll cost you a life someday."
Harry's more than sure that it will.