Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter nor am I making money off this. I'm just passing time writing and wishing I had that much money.

This chapter is a little choppy? Something? I hope it is easily followed even though the writing style is not something I normally do, it's from several different perspectives as things come together. Also, Chapter 1 was edited with some stuff corrected but nothing much added. I threw it out last late at night after writing it in one sitting without editing or correcting my work. I don't edit much though because when I read over my stuff, I feel like changing things haha.

Reviews on how to improve the writing style of this chapter would be appreciated if it's bad!


Chapter 2: The Clock Chimes Twelve

Harry Potter stared out the window in the smallest room of number four Privet Drive and wondered if Hagrid would come back to take him away. Hedwig, the snowy white owl, gave a quiet hoot towards her new owner and the boy turned his head to give her a small and sad smile. Maybe he was forgotten? His thoughts turned back to the trip that he took a couple days ago.

Diagon Alley was like nothing he'd expected and more wonderful than he could have imagined. There were a few times in school where he would get to read fantasy books that mentioned things like magic, the last one titled So You Want To Be A Wizard (A/N: By Diane Duane, Young Wizards series that started in the early 80s, children/young adult book and awesome to read), but none of them could have prepared him for reality. Hagrid had started not at the bank, but at the ice cream store that had the most amazing flavors. Only after that did he get to see things like goblins (where he was told it was a Very Bad Idea to steal from them because they had dragons), and though the giant man looked green after the fun ride on the cart (which he imagined would be like a roller coaster if he had ever been allowed to go to an amusement park with his cousin), he had stayed with him to keep the crowd away. Hagrid was also very careful not to say his name loudly again and it made him feel very safe.

They had gone together to the wand shop where the creepy silver-eyed man knew who he was, too. Harry frowned slightly when he recalled the conversation about his wand (holly, eleven inches, phoenix feather core) and the brother to it that gave them the scar. Upon further questioning of Hagrid before they parted, he got the name of the wizard who did it: Voldemort. Now he knew why he was famous, but he really didn't want the fame. Not if it meant all those people looking at him and judging him. The look in their eyes was different than the looks that people around here gave him, though, but it was still uncomfortable if not more.

Here, it was categorized into different kinds. His family looked at him like a freak. Unwanted. Disgust. Dislike. His teachers and neighbors looked at him like he was a liar and a trouble maker. The other students looked at him with things like pity because he was bullied, or disdain.

At the Leaky Cauldron, though, they all looked at him with awe. That was very unsettling, especially over something he couldn't remember. He closed his eyes briefly and let out a sharp exhale, his hand going up to flatten his hair over his scar at the same time. He didn't even know how or why he survived a curse when his family didn't. Nor, it seemed, did anyone else.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to see Hedwig giving him a comforting look as though she knew what he was thinking. "It's okay, girl. I'm just confused," he said softly. She bobbed her head and he took that as encouragement to continue to talk. "I don't really get the wizard world. Why did I live but my parents didn't survive? Why did Voldemort come after me? Why does my Aunt and Uncle hate magic? Why did they lie this whole time?"

He sighed with pent up frustration when she gave a purring coo to help him calm down, then he looked around the room filled with broken toys and his new trunk which he was sitting on. "They all think I'm great, Hedwig. I tried to read Modern Magical History that the book store owner said I should get after Hagrid asked what's best to help me learn more about the wizard world, but it feels weird to be mentioned like that, you know?"

Hedwig bobbed up and down on her perch like she agreed and he stood up, smiled at her, then opened his trunk to pull out the owl treats that Hagrid had also bought as part of his birthday present. "You're a great girl," he complimented when she accepted the offering from his small hands gently. "I'm glad my aunt and uncle have left me alone since we got back yesterday. It looked like they had only just got back, too, but they haven't come by the room at all. Probably pretending I don't exist again." He added the last with a small snort then shrugged. He still had some food in his trunk, and it wouldn't be the first time his aunt and uncle kept him in one place without food for days. At least this time he had a window where he could look outside, more room, and a real bed to sleep in. Plus, for the first time, his own possessions as well.

Harry closed his trunk again to sit on the lid once more so he could go back to gazing out the window. He really hoped Hagrid would come by soon, or anyone really. Someone finally to take him away like he dreamed about so many times when he was younger and locked away in the cupboard...


"Master, I can't figure it out," came the complaint accompanied by a cringe from the young man. He had many tomes laid open on the table in the dusty and dimly lit room, several of them looking so old and fragile that a hard sneeze could make the delicate parchment disintegrate. "I've read them over and I've researched the runes on the stone itself, but a few of them are not in any of the books."

"Fool," came the sibilant hiss. though there appeared to be nobody else in the room that appeared to have been unused for years until now. "Flamel is a master alchemist. There have only been a handful of them throughout the years. Do you know what it takes to be one, Quirrel?"

"N-no, Master," came the stammering reply. Quirrell didn't normally stutter... but when you have a Dark Lord possessing you that could cause untold amounts of pain without needing a wand, you stutter.

"Mastery in Ancient Runess, Arithmancy, and Potions to being with. Knowledge of Sspell Creation for both Light and Dark spellss. Wandless magic to be able to accomplish the more delicate aspects when you may not have hands free," came the irritated explanation. "A master of Ancient Runes can create their own letters as well, though each one takes years to do so. No doubt why he immortalized himsself at such an old age. Read the other translated runes out loud, idiot, and I'll think about what his own could mean."

Quirrell gulped then nodded. "Starting with the outer ring then, master. He made them in sets of thirteen."

"How many ringss?" This time, his master sounded intrigued which made Quirrell relax a little bit.

"There are five, master. They don't appear to be tied to a central rune, either. Having been studying the stone, I don't believe it is ruby. It actually appears... made?"

"Would you hazzzard a guess asss to what it iss made of?" the voice hissed back dryly.

Quirrell swallowed hard. "I'd say... blood, Master. Blood that was crystalized." His head prickled uncomfortable, the whole thing feeling like it was pins and needles, and he clenched his fists to keep himself from unwrapping the turban or rubbing his scalp.

"What brought you to that conclusssion?" his Master asked this time.

He cleared his throat nervously and licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. "As you know, master, I'm a half blood," he began with a wince. "My father was a wizard but my mother was a nurse at a muggle hospital. As such, sometimes she would come home from the emergency room with blood still on her uniform, and I found it fascinating as a child, so I would study it..."

"Ah, yessss. You were in Ravenclaw, so no doubt you did," came the now amused reply. "Blood would make sense to tie the rings together. Flamel working with blood magicsss, and no doubt Dumbledore knew ssince he had tried apprenticing to the man for a while."

Quirrell startled at that drop of knowledge. The leader of light practicing what's been banned as dark? "Why didn't he continue his apprenticeship, Master?" Quirrel asked timidly.

"Becaussse the war with Grindelwald sstarted and Dumbledore decided to teach at Hogwarts for safety," came the short reply, signalling an end to the discussion. "Now, start reading the runesssss out loud."

"Yes, Master," Quirrell dutifully replied before starting on the task.


Dumbledore was pouring over the headmaster's library, a collection of extremely rare books that the headmasters, and even a couple by the founders, had left behind during their tenure. His hair and beard were frazzled, his robed wrinkled, and he appeared not to have slept at all in the past couple days.

Damn Flamel and his games! Does he not realize how important this is?! He had written his old mentor to request some blood for some of the tracking charms he had come across in these books, but when Fawkes flashed back a few minutes later, it was with a note with a single word of 'No.'

Most likely, Flamel did not live in Britain, and so didn't care if another Dark Lord rose again. Dumbledore snorted with disgust, shook his head, then summoned another book to himself wandlessly. That's the problem with those with long lives, they ended up not caring about those with normal lives. Vampires, though once human, were the same as well. He figured Flamel would have invested more in this fight saying as how he was once the man's pupil and helped him with other research.

'He did invest,' Fawkes interjected. 'He had loaned you the key to his immortality, and it was lost. When I got there, he was packing while talking to his mate.'

Dumbledore sat up straight and looked over to his familiar. "Packing? Why would he pack? What were they talking about?" he asked sharply.

Fawkes clacked his beak at the old man in warning a couple times. 'Don't take that tone with me! I do not know why they were packing. All I know was his mate was crying as well. He sent me off too quickly to learn of anything.'

Dumbledore felt a pang of guilt at that before he used his occlumency to quash it. "Sorry, my dear Fawkes," he said to his angry familiar contritely even while his thoughts turned over the information. Now he knew why the reply had been so short, though not why he said no. Perhaps he was packing as well to get out of Britain while he could? He frowned then shook his head. No, it was not in Flamel's character to run from Dark Lords. He really didn't care about them whether they were Light or Dark except as a source of knowledge at times. But, that would be why he was a Grey Lord, and the only one that Dumbledore had heard of in centuries.

The back of his mind continued to work on Flamel's puzzling behavior even as he resumed his research into tracking charms. Maybe the next one would work though the last forty or so had failed.


That night, Harry prepared for bed after letting Hedwig out the window so she could hunt. He himself had eaten some more of his birthday cake since it would no doubt be going bad soon. The rest of the house was silent as his family had gone to sleep an hour ago, so the small boy gathered up a few water bottles and quietly snuck down into the kitchen to refill them before going back up into his room.

Thankfully, nobody woke up. He was still expecting to be ambushed and thrown back into the cupboard.

Kneeling to put away his water for the next day under his bed, he rubbed the scar on his forehead with one and frowned. It was tingling and itching, which it had never done before, and he felt... giddy? Excited? Happy? He blinked, then quickly got to his feet to scramble to his window. Maybe his magic is telling him that Hagrid is here finally!

The little boy eagerly scanned the streets, but the lamps outside didn't reveal a large man. Nobody was out there as a matter of fact.

Disappointed, the little boy heaved a sigh and trudged to his bed then quietly got under the covers. Just as quietly, he cried himself to sleep, the hope he'd held out for two days finally dying when the chiming from the clock downstairs for the third day began.

Hope, for this little boy, had been crushed far too many times for him to hold it for long anymore.


Nicholas Flamel sat on the couch while holding his wife. She had long since finished crying and now was just seeking comfort in his arms. They had decided together that giving the stone to Dumbledore to set up a trap for Voldemort in Hogwarts was fine since they were willing to die together. However, the old fool had kept it in Gringotts rather than the protections that Flamel had given to Dumbledore to use just in case it was removed from the intended room.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly to his companion once again while staring into the crackling fireplace in front of them. It earned him a slap on the arm.

"Nick, stop apologizing," Perenelle replied back and met his eyes with a her own fierce ones. "Dumbledore had said he'd protect it at the school, not that he would stash it in a vault." She paused for a moment and her expression softened as a hand raised up to stroke his cheek. "Besides, what's a few years to the centuries we've been together? I'll meet you on the other side I'm sure."

Nicholas raised his own hand and placed it on the back of hers as he gave her a gentle, yet sad smile. "A few years is a long time without my life long companions, love," he replied back.

She snorted with amusement even as her cheeks tinged slightly with a blush. "And even after centuries, you still give this old woman flowery words," she teased to lighten the mood. "We've parted for years at a time on occasion, my heart. Just think of it as another vacation like that."

Nicholas leaned in, brushed his lips on hers a couple times as his arms went around her body to hold her tightly against him, then he deepened the kiss to pour all of the love and appreciation he felt for her which she returned back just as passionately.


The clock began chiming midnight.

Somewhere, a last rune was deciphered by two very intelligent wizards.

Somewhere, a little boy sobbed silently.

Somewhere, an old wizard was failed another spell and his shoulders slumped with weary weight.

Somewhere, a couple was saying their goodbyes without words.

The last chime ended, and it ended quite normally. One would expect the last note to ring out triumphantly or to sound like doom depending on what side of the fence you sit on, but there was no indication that the new day would bring drastic changes into everyone's lives. No new prophecies were made by a seer sitting in a tower drinking cooking wine, no odd feelings by a potion master gathering the ingredients he'd need for potions he planned to brew to trap his old Master out in South America, and nobody noticed the prophecy orb in the Department of Mysteries in the sub levels of the Ministry that was marked for the Dark Lord and Harry Potter (?) went grey, signifying that it no longer applied. The last would not be noticed for a couple of days.

Fate had stilled her hands for the moment to just watch.


Harry Potter woke up to the sound of banging on his door. "Boy!" his Aunt Petunia called with her nasally voice. "Get up and get down to the kitchen. Your Uncle wants to talk to you." He froze for a second, then his motions turned into a flurry of movement when he hastily started to dress. He heard his aunt's footsteps when she moved away and figured she heard him getting himself ready.

Once dressed, he rushed to the bathroom to use the facilities, then washed his face when he saw that his eyes were still red from crying the night before. Pausing only to inspect himself in the mirror again to make sure he was presentable, he made his way down to the kitchen to start breakfast.

His uncle was already seated and reading the paper. The walrus-like man did not acknowledge the black haired boy who had started cooking, and said young child was used to the behavior. Talks usually happened only after meals were eaten, so the best he could do was to make the food as good as he could and hope that it would be enough to placate the temperamental man. He only hoped he wouldn't be forced back into the cupboard since Hedwig needed to hunt and he really liked having a window.

The kitchen remained silent besides the sound of the paper rustling and the food being cooked until Dudley came just as the finishing touches to the omelette was completed. "Dad! What is that freak doing in here?!" the fat boy whined while still standing in the doorway. "I don't want him in here! I don't want him in my room!"

Harry said nothing and pretended not to exist while putting the food onto plates. "My sweet little Duddikins," his aunt coaxed in a sickly sweet voice from behind her son. "Go on into the kitchen and have a seat. Don't forget we have that appointment today, too."

Vernon grunted and set the paper to the side. "Gotta set down some firm rules for the boy," he added gruffly to his son.

"But I don't want him in here!" Dudley wailed as his hands went to his backside where the curly tail was. The appointment to the doctors his mom just mentioned reminded him about it and the scariest night of his short life. "He'll do his freakish things!"

Harry still had not uttered a word while his family talked about him. During Dudley's tantrum, he had finished serving up the food and had withdrawn into a corner to wait it out.

"Don't worry, mummy will protect her sweet little Dudders," Aunt Petunia cooed to her son as she started to steer him inside with both hands on his shoulders. "And I'll take you to the toy store after your appointment! You can pick anything you'd like there."

Dudley's face screwed up for a second in thought then melted away into a grin. "Alright," he agreed before sitting down to start shoveling food into his mouth.

The two adults glanced over to Harry, exchanged a look that he couldn't decipher with each other, then started eating as well. Since he wasn't invited, it meant he would either get the cold leftovers (if there was any) or nothing at all. Harry slumped against the wall and waited for them to finish.

Indeed, there was nothing left on the dining room table when everyone finished their meals. Petunia glared scathingly at Harry once as she gathered up her son to get him ready to leave the house, and Vernon pointed at the chair Harry was allowed to use, Harry moved over to sit down carefully, used to the wobbly leg (which is why it was his chair).

"Just because you found out about your... freakishness... doesn't mean I'll be having it under my roof!" his Uncle stated. "There will be no funny business while you continue to live here and you'll continue to work for your keep!"

Harry nodded while keeping his eyes respectfully downcast, not wanting to draw more anger towards himself.

"We took you in because the other freaks left you on our doorstep, so stop skulking about like you have for the past couple days and get back to doing your chores!" his uncle continued. Harry couldn't help at the small flinch from the reminder that even the wizards didn't want him, and he could hear the spiteful glee in his uncle's voice showing the older man hadn't missed that, either. "That's right, boy. Show your gratitude to your aunt and I for even taking you in. As long as you don't do anything funny, we'll let you keep your new room, too."

Harry nodded again. "Thank you, Uncle Vernon," he replied meekly. "May I have my list of chores for today?"

Harry held his breath for a second when his uncle didn't immediately reply, no doubt analyzing his words for anything to punish him for, then grunted finally. "It's posted on the fridge, boy," the large man said as he stood up to leave. "And make sure to wash the dishes first since your mother is busy taking care of the problem that your friend caused."

Harry stood up once his uncle had left the room and began his chores for the day quietly. He had no friends, he had wanted to shout. He didn't think that it would be worth being thrown back into the cupboard, though. Nobody had come, after all.


Master, the brew is nearly complete," Quirrell announced as he worked. The large oak table that contained the kit he had put together to unlock the stone's powers was once used as a dining room table. Now it held contraptions and books, making it look like a lab table for a mad scientist. A blood red stone was suspended in the center, held up by a glowing magical circle that had been carved into the wood below it and each corner of the table had a cauldron with a small flame below it. This room was not as dusty as the one he was using the night before, but only because he had cleaned it in preparation of the ritual that was needed to unlock the stone's powers.

"Good," came the pleased reply of the Dark Lord. "When I regain my form, Quirrell, you sshall be rewarded above all othersss."

The wizard smirked and nodded. "Shall I get the muggles now then, master?" he asked.

"Yesss," was the hissed response. "But be quick. Five are needed for the next step, and you have fifteen minutesss to retrieve them. I do not care who they are, jusst that it be done as fasst as possible. I will be resurrected before the day endssss!"

Quirrell's smirk widened into a sadistic smile at the triumphant ending to his companion's commands. "Yes, Master," he agreed. With a crack, he disapparated to gather the last of the needed ingredients.


While a small boy weeded his aunt's garden late in the afternoon, Albus Dumbledore woke up to someone shouting his name from the fireplace with a groan. He rubbed his face while realizing he had passed out with exhaustion over his desk leaving him with a sore neck, then used a silent and wandless command to put a glamour on so he could conceal how shabby he looked before standing to move to the crackling green fire with Mad-Eye Moody's head.

"Albus, there you are! Been calling you for the last couple minutes!" the grizzled veteran said when the old wizard came into view. "Got news from my contacts at Azkaban."

Dumbledore immediately became alert and he hurried the last couple steps to kneel so he'd be at eye level with Moody. "What did you hear, Alistair?" he asked.

The twisted and scarred lips on the ex-auror pursed for a moment. "My contact says there has been unrest from the death eaters still alive in the cells. They'd been pretty silent for the past few years with the exceptions of fanatics like the Blacks, but even the ones who had gone completely silent are started to mutter," he explained with a low growl. "They've sent more dementors to patrol those corridors to make sure the scum aren't conspiring to break out."

Albus nodded slowly as he processed the new puzzle piece in with the rest. "Then that means we are short on time. Has anyone else in the Order found any new information on locations?"

Moody shook his head no, the movement causing the scars covering his face to highlight and shadow in a ghastly way. "Even Mundungus's criminal contacts don't seem to be aware of anything. Whoever got the Stone, Dumbledore, is being very careful not to cause ripples."

The older wizard grimaced. "I believe Severus should be joining us soon, I've sent him a message," he said, then held up a hand before Moody could object about having a death eater joining them in their search. "I trust him implicitly, my friend, and he is the only person who might be able to shed some light into the situation at Azkaban."

"Still don't have to like it," Moody spat out in return. "Nor do I have to trust the snake. Once a traitor, always a traitor, Dumbledore."

Albus directed a stern look at Moody, causing the man to quiet down though by no means intimidating him. "Be that as it may, he's a valuable asset and could benefit us in the war to come. We will all need to work together to overcome the darkness that's approaching," he explained sagaciously.

Moody snorted in reply, never having been taken in by Dumbledore's forgiveness policy, but he didn't disagree. "Well, I'll go see what else I can scrounge up then," he said instead. "Maybe make a few visits to some sympathizers of the Dark." Without saying goodbye or waiting for a reply, Moody's head withdrew which made the flames resume its normal colors.

Dumbledore sighed and pulled off his glasses so he could rub at his tired eyes. No doubt there were bags under them and the twinkle was gone, he mused to himself briefly before his thought processed moved forward with the new information.

With normal criminals not stirring, that meant, most likely, that gold was not suddenly fluctuating in. That could mean that the thief has simply not figured out how to use the stone. However with the addition of the Death Eaters in the wizarding prison also seeming to gain a second wind, most likely the culprit was Tom Riddle. It would also mean that he was very close to attaining a new body.

Dumbledore slumped as his thoughts turned to the boy from the orphanage. He had made so many mistakes with that boy, and he couldn't help but feel that it was his fault that Tom Riddle had turned out the way he did.

'We all make our own decisions,' came Fawkes's sympathetic thoughts through their link. 'Yes, you could have found a better home for the boy, but it was his decision as both a boy, and a man, to harm others. You cannot take the blame of all those deaths upon your shoulders."

A tear tracked down the old wizard's tired cheeks as he shook his head in reply. "Thank you, Fawkes, but I had already judged him as evil and so did not teach him right from wrong," he sighed out. "Though I did not wave the wand to kill directly, it was my lack of intervention that caused this situation to occur."

'You should not apply what happened to your sister to this, either,' Fawkes thought compassionately. 'You were young-'

Dumbledore cut off the mental link by slamming down his occlumency and glared at his bird. "That was my fault, and there is no excuse for it," he replied back shortly before slumping again. "No, sorry my friend, I did not mean to snap at you. But... Arianna's death tore up what family I had left, and had it not been because I was dabbling with powers I should not have been while planning to change the world through force with Gellert..."

Fawkes didn't respond with a mental command though the one he was tied to had let go of his shields with the apology. Instead, he trilled out into song to comfort the man he'd known who felt the burden of responsibility for an entire country and more.

Dumbledore felt himself brought out of the guilt he had wallowed in when his exhaustion lifted due to his familiar's singing and he gave the phoenix a smile of gratitude as he picked himself up from the floor in front of the fireplace. He had no time for this, he realized. He needed to call in his spy, and now.


Severus Snape was relaxed this very early morning even as he was hard at work in the the magical wilds deep within the Amazons. He was covered in insect bites (both magical and non magical), sweating under the lighter robes he had picked up because of the heat and humidity of the rain forest, and covered in grime but he was pretty happy. No children, solitude, and pursuing something he truly appreciated gave him a sense of satisfaction he hadn't felt for years. As long as he didn't think about why he needed rare ingredients to brew the upcoming potions and poisons he would need, anyway.

The Dark Lord was trying to come back to life.

His body tensed and he grunted as his thoughts wandered in that direction again, but that reaction caused him to get a bitten by the carnivorous plant he was trying to get a clipping off of. Luckily, it was just a small scratch, but he cursed since that would make clippings from this vine unusable from the plant. He stood up briskly and moved off to find another patch of the Polka-Dotted Palo Santo vine.

He brooded as his eyes searched for the incense tree that the vines grew on while he trudged through, carefully watching for dangers as well. The Potter brat would be starting this year, and Dumbledore was setting a trap for the Dark Lord thinking that, since the boy would be making his first appearance since that night, he might appear to make another attempt on the boy. The boy that Lily died for and the one he made an Unbreakable Vow for to try to repent for the murder he regretted being responsible for.

He folded his hands into the sleeves of his robes as he carefully sidestepped a bog, the top of the murky water rippling slightly with his passing to show that there was something living within the muddy water. He was to also prepare a trap, though he didn't know why Albus wanted him to also prepare a riddle to go with it that could be solved. It would have just been better to make all of the vials poisons, in his opinion, and only give the antidote to the flames to those who were authorized the plan. He tried to tell the old fool just that, but Dumbledore waves him off with excuses about how nobody should have to die like that if they got that far.

Then he was ignored when he offered to make sure that the poison would kill quickly and painlessly like his suggestion was a joke. Snape rolled his eyes then reached deeper into his sleeves to scratch at his itchy arm.

He had run out of the potion he used to keep the insects away on the third day here, and he'd been here for a total of six. He'd left most of his possessions back in the tavern room (if it the large community hut could be called that) back in the magical village that was a day's walk from his current position. It took him over a day to shake loose the Ao Ao that had chased him after he sheared some of its wool. The damn creature had woken up too soon from the sleeping drought just as he collected the last of what he needed, and so he lost time while he ran and tried to read up on how to get rid of the cannibalistic monster. The book he had didn't have much information, unfortunately, but when he came across the passage that they were either once human, or at least half human, he tried obliviating it of the memory it had of both him, and his scent. Thankfully, it worked.

It also made him reconsider hiring a guide, but he didn't want to spend time with a native and a stranger. Even the thought of doing so made him sneer, but that expression turned into a smile when he found another outcropping of the vines. He hurries over and pulled the collection kit out of his expandable bag, then kneeled down and got closer while holding his breath. The plants knew when flesh was around by the exhale of air that all living creatures made, so he was careful not to breathe out as he clipped off the stamen from several flowers. Once he gathered enough samples, he got up and quickly backed away to take several gulps of air.

His triumphant smile and happy mood disappeared, though, when a phoenix patronus approached him and he sneered at it with contempt. Damn the man! Can't he even finish his mission without being bothered?!

'Severus, you need to return now. The Stone was stolen before we could retrieve it.'

The dour man paled at the news, put his kit back into his bag, then disappeared to collect the rest of his things from the village. He should have known that being able to relax was just a harbinger of ill omen.


Due to the time zone differences, by the time Severus made it back to the ancient castle where the rest of the Order was gathered, it was late evening. He was in a foul mood, even worse than usual, and so when he swooped in to take a seat at the Ravenclaw table (why Ravenclaw, anyway?), he didn't even notice the distrusting glares that was being directed his way.

"I still don't see why Flamel isn't here, Dumbledore," said the red headed matron of the Weasley clan. "Isn't he worried about the stone and you-know-who?"

Though most wouldn't be able to see it, Snape was both a spy and had been around Dumbledore to catch small telltale signs that he kept hidden from others. A small tightening of wrinkles around the corner of his twinkling blue eyes showed irritation and the flick of the tongue on teeth right before the friendly smile told him impatience. That means it probably wasn't the first time the shrill woman had asked that, or she wasn't the only one asking that.

"Molly, as I've said, Flamel is doing other things from his end," Dumbledore placated while holding up a hand to keep others from interrupting him. "And no, he has not divulged to me what he's doing. Now then, our last member is here. Have you anything... new... to report, Severus?"

The potion master wanted to snarl at the old man when all the people gathered looked at him, but he bit his tongue. "The Dark Mark has become nearly as clear as it used to be at the height of His power," he said coolly instead, keeping his expression blank though he wanted to smirk when everyone else started talking in panic at the same time.

Dumbledore got everyone's attention after a minute with a loud bang from his wand. "Thank you for your silence," he said gravely. "We do not have time to panic, however. Kingsley, will you report to Madam Bones about the new development? I'm sure the other Death Eaters in the cells can be used as further proof along with their restlessness."

The tall, dark-skinned man nodded, but before he could reply, Moody addressed Snape with a sneer. "I bet you're glad to see your master is coming back, Snape," he growled out before tapping at the corner of his magical eye. "I'll be keeping an eye on you."

Severus only replied with a sneer of his own and Dumbledore intervened. "Moody, like I said, Severus atoned for his mistakes long ago and has my full confidence," he said sternly. "We do not need to bicker amongst ourselves right now."

The scarred man glowered at the ex-death eater for a moment longer before he turned his attention back to the proceedings. "Do we know where the Stone is, yet?" he asked in return.

"Not as of yet, but we haven't tried all methods," Dumbledore replied back.

With all the attention going back to the meeting and off of him, Snape kept one ear open while he rubbed at his upper arm and thought about things. When it wrapped up a couple hours later, however, not much had been settled upon to his disgust. Just that Bones and Fudge needed to be told, but the feeling of panic and fear from the other members had faded because they felt like more was being done.

Severus could read the information that Dumbledore was hiding, though. Flamel was no longer involved for some reason, Dumbledore could not track the stone, and nobody knew where the Dark Lord was. It was only after he slipped down into the dungeons by himself to go to his quarters that night that he began his own plotting on what to do once the Dark Lord came into power once again. All for Harry Potter.


A/N: Thank you for the follows and reviews! This is Chapter 2. I have no idea how long it will be, really, the story is still a bit fuzzy overall, but I am enjoying how it's coming together. I hope you all do as well =) I have to say kudos to the people who can write 10k+ words in one chapter, I'm struggling to get over 5k honestly. My brain tries to tell me the chapter should be over once I hit 3-4k.

As a teaser, next Chapter will be titled "A new home."