Chapter 5
The Stolen Hallow
It was breakfast the next morning when they first showed up. Ron was arguing with Harry about Chudley's chances at winning the Cup this year, with everyone else watching them. With the end of the war, the Quidditch tournaments would be starting up any week now, and Ron was certain that the Canons were in the running for a win.
"Well, just think about it," he said earnestly, "Members of other teams will be gone, you know, with all the rubbish Umbridge did to the Muggle-borns last year and all the murders."
"Ron!" Hermione said sharply.
He held up his hands defensively, "I just meant that the other teams have lost most of their better players. Let's face it; Puddlemere United don't stand a chance since they lost that seeker of theirs, Michael Herving."
"It wouldn't matter if the other teams had to get entirely new squads," Harry objected, "The Canons couldn't win against a team of juniors on practice brooms." Ron scowled fiercely, but they were both startled when Mrs. Weasley, who had been standing alone at the window, swore with such ferocity that even Ron looked shocked. And not a little bit awed.
"They're back again," she screeched, unaware of the stares she had drawn "I warned them all to stay away. But do they listen; no, no of course not. All that matters to these fools is getting their story on the front page." At her words, Harry felt his heart sink. He pushed back his chair and hurried to stand behind the head of the Weasley household. He peered out and was dismayed by what he saw.
There, crouching in the garden, a wizard was sitting watching the back door, a large camera clutched in his bony hands. And he was not alone. Straining his eyes, Harry caught a glimpse of a small beetle perched on the photographer's shoulder. Ordinarily he would have thought nothing of the bug apparently just resting on the wizard's cloak. But experience with this bug in particular had made him extra cautious in these situations.
Harry had been wondering when this would happen. There had been no doubt in his mind, that from the moment he had defeated Voldemort, for the second time no less, his fame would multiply a hundredfold. It had only been a matter of time before the reporters began to show up on the Burrow's front step. And then the questions would begin, and the peace he had fought so hard for, would be shattered.
"When did the first one appear?" he said softly.
"They started showing up a week ago," Mrs. Weasley said, glaring furiously out the window, "They were asking about you. I heard Minerva had banned them from entering the Hogwarts grounds while repairs and burials were under way." She frowned at the mention of burials, but otherwise didn't comment.
Harry felt a flash of gratitude toward McGonagall for her actions, and then remembered ashamedly how he had disrespected her in his last couple of days at the castle. He would have to apologise the next time he saw her.
Harry glanced through the curtains again to see the photographer shift impatiently in the flowerbeds. Biting his lip in thought, he turned to the table where everyone was looking at him. Ron and Hermione were watching him anxiously, Ginny, Bill and Charlie were staring searchingly, and everyone else was just looking curiously. He nodded at Ron and Hermione, who quickly excused themselves and followed him as he marched from the room.
"Those bloody reporters-" Ron began, but was cut off as Hermione cuffed him over the head.
"How many times have I told you to watch your language?" she scolded as he threw up his arms in protest. Harry chuckled at his friends' antics, but speedily adopted a serious tone as they both turned their glares on him.
He opened his mouth to speak, but his words were stopped as a bright flash suddenly lit up the room, blinding them. Harry gave a shout and pulled off his glasses, rubbing his eyes with one hand. With the other he reached for his wand. He groaned when he realised that he had left it lying on the bedside table upstairs, thinking he wouldn't need to be armed at breakfast of all places. Apparently he was wrong.
The bright spots on his eyes began to fade, leaving the room in a dull blur. He shoved his glasses back onto his face, and the room came completely into focus. Ron and Hermione were holding each other steady, each shaking their heads to rid their vision of the last bright spots clouding their own eyes. Ron murmured something that Harry didn't catch, but Hermione nodded, a flustered look appearing on her face as Ron released her.
"Somehow, Hermione, I think those reporters are more than deserving of Ron's abuse," Harry said grimly, blinking and pointing out the window by the front door. A wizard was running out the front gate, a large flash bulb attached to the top of the camera tucked under one arm. Hermione looked troubled by his remark, but nodded when Harry continued to stare at her.
"We'll have to do something about them, everyone needs privacy," Ron muttered. He opened his mouth to mutter what promised to be some choice words, but was interrupted when Mr. Weasley burst into the room, four envelopes clasped in his hands.
"Molly told me to give these to you," he explained, "I think that Hogwarts is opening early this year due to the, ah, disorder during that last year." He thrust a letter into each of their hands before hurrying off with the fourth, no doubt looking for Ginny. Harry carried his own over to where the light was streaming through the window, making sure that he was well-hidden in shadows, before examining the contents of the envelope addressed to him.
The Hogwarts letter was slightly different this year, with an explanation that the school year would begin on August the first due to fact that 'the handling of Hogwarts over the past term had been marred by events beyond the control of the professors'. Harry snorted at the understatement in the message. The book list consisted of The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 7) by Miranda Goshawk, Charming Beyond Belief by Ellen Amabel and Complex Defence Arts by Matthew Guarth.
And there was another smaller surprise in store; a familiar badge fell into Harry's hand, with the insignia of the Gryffindor Quidditch team Captain engraved into it. He grinned when he heard Hermione's squeal of pleasure, looking over to see a small badge with the capital letter 'H' cut into its silver surface. Ron was staring at the badge that gave him the authority of the Headboy with something between disbelief and wonder, almost mirroring himself three years previously when he became the Prefect.
Hermione beamed at Ron, "Ron, I'm Headgirl, Mum is going to be so pleased. I was a Prefect and Head of school. I mean, can you believe it?" Harry very much wanted to say yes, but knew from experience that some things were better left unsaid.
"What's Mum going to say?" Ron said wonderingly. The last time he got a badge he had been given a brand new broomstick, so he would no doubt be excited by the thought of another reward for his efforts.
"Congratulations, to you both," Harry said heartily, clapping his friends on the shoulder. They both cast him a wary glance but saw genuine warmth in his eyes. Harry wasn't entirely surprised by their reaction. He himself had reacted rather badly at the start of their fifth year when the other two had become Prefects and he had remained a normal student. But this year he was happy to let the opportunity at a position of responsibility go. Even if his father had been a Headboy, Harry was going to have enough people treating him differently from the rest of the students in his year anyway.
"Well we're going to have to visit Diagon Alley," Harry said, glancing back at the list in his hand, "And I need a new cauldron and potions ingredients anyway; I got rid of my last one before we, well, you know …" He broke off awkwardly, not really wanting to bring the past year into focus.
It was as if Hermione could sense his mood, as she hurriedly changed the subject, "That's wonderful. I've been needing to go to the Alley myself to pick up some things at Flourish and Blotts."
She looked thoughtful for a moment, and didn't see the bemused glance that passed between Harry and Ron. As if she needed more books. Then, without a word to the two of them, she strode from the room. Ron grimaced and followed her back into the now almost empty kitchen. Harry took one more careful look out the front window before joining them in the other room.
Mrs. Weasley was doing the washing up at the sink. Or rather, she had her wand pointed at the basin and was talking casually to Hermione's mother. But every now and then she would peek through the curtains and glare at the sight of the wizard sitting in her garden with a large black camera, invading her family's privacy and at the same time crushing her precious flowers.
Everyone else seemed to have disappeared. Hermione had cornered Ginny and was speaking in earnest to her. Ron was standing right next to them, but once or twice he shook his head in intense disagreement at what Hermione was saying, before looking at Harry guiltily. His sister seemed to be on her brother's side for once, as she was rapidly shaking her head. Finally Ginny seemed to give in to Hermione's demands and bounded off for the stairs. Ron gave Hermione a very black look as the two of them approached Harry.
"Ginny will be joining us this afternoon in Diagon Alley," the bushy haired witch said, giving Ron a look that shouted disapproval, "And I'm hoping that we could convince Neville and Luna to come along as well." She glanced furtively at Harry, as if waiting for the inevitable explosion.
Harry frowned. As much as he hated Hermione's nasty habit of being a bit nosy where his personal affairs were concerned, he couldn't help but feel that maybe this time, he might try and work with her. With a monumental effort, he let the grimace slide from his face, "What time do you want to be there?"
Hermione's delighted smile could have cheered the saddest of souls, "I was hoping that we could go just after lunch. It won't take long to contact Luna and Neville; I'll just use the Floo to call them up." She hurried from the room, looking as though Christmas had come early. Ron rolled his eyes and muttered what sounded suspiciously like, 'She's absolutely mental'.
A loud screech made the two men look up, startled. Mrs. Weasley was bearing down on them, her eyes fixed on her youngest son's open palm. Moment's later, her suspicions seemed to be confirmed, for she looked at Ron with something resembling immense pride. And suddenly, she had him wrapped in a gigantic bearhug, tears streaming down her face. Ron looked positively terrified, giving her a little pat on the back in what Harry assumed was meant to be a calming gesture.
"First a Prefect and now a Headboy," the witch sobbed, finally releasing Ron from her grip, "You've made me a very proud witch today Ronald Weasley." Ron still looked a bit worried; his fist was closing slowly over the small badge, and he was turning a very bright shade of red. It was at that moment that Bill, Charlie and Fleur entered the room, and there was another round of congratulations that left Ron looking very uncomfortable. The two eldest Weasleys had stopped giving Harry death stares since he had decided to treat Ginny better, but their expressions still couldn't be called friendly.
It took Ron several minutes to escape the men holding out hands to shake, and the women swooping down to give him a congratulatory kiss on the cheeks. By the time he managed to make his way to Harry, who was standing by the stairs, he had a sour look plastered across his features and only grunted at Harry's bemused look. He hurriedly shoved the Headboy badge into the depths of his pockets, obviously hoping to avoid more attention.
"You'd think Bill never made it to be Headboy," he whispered to Harry, a watchful gleam in his eye as he looked at the people gathered across the room. Harry almost laughed aloud at his friend's antics; two years ago Ron would have given almost anything to be in the limelight like this. Now he was shying away from it all, as if he wanted nothing to do with it. If Harry hadn't seen it himself, he never would have believed it.
"Come on," he said, "We'd better get upstairs and change. If Hermione finds us dressed as we are when she's ready to go, she'll probably charm our clothes to change for us." Ron was only too happy for the excuse himself from the room and hurried upstairs, with Harry only a few steps behind. He was looking forward to seeing Neville and Luna again, and there was something else he needed to get from Diagon Alley that he hadn't mentioned to the others. The afternoon was promising to be an eventful one.
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To say Diagon Alley was crowded would be an understatement. The magical shopping venue in London's heart was overflowing with wizards and witches of every kind. Foreigners were gathered there in the hundreds, nearly all of them staying at the Leaky Cauldron. Most, if not all of them were gathered in Britain to fight against Voldemort and the Death Eaters in the recent war. Others raced up and down the narrow street, plowing through the throng, rushing in and out of the recently re-opened stores. Renovations were going on everywhere, with most of the store-owners who had been ruined by the war hurrying to beat the new competition.
Although Hermione had protested at first, Harry had come dressed in a long black cloak with the hood pulled low over his bright, emerald colored eyes. He was not sure he could stand the awed stares of the people of the magic world so soon after he had almost lost everything. This way he could move freely without having to endure the pointing fingers. Today he would not be the Boy Who Lived, but Harry.
His fears proved to be well founded. They had not gone twenty feet before they saw a large stack of copies of the Daily Prophet, with a small wizard wearing a flowing green cloak selling them for three knuts each. Harry remembered them costing seven knuts before the war, and abruptly realised that prices must have dropped during the fight with Voldemort. Ron stepped over to the wizard, and seconds later, he was back, the newspaper clutched in his hands. There was a small smile playing on his lips as his best friend snatched it out of his hand. Harry was greeted by his own scowling face standing in the Weasley's living room, above which the words, 'The Boy Who Won,' were printed in large black letters. In the corner of the picture, Ron seemed to be trying to sidle into the shot, but a hand which Harry guessed was Hermione's was holding him back.
"Of course, you're not just the Boy Who Lived anymore," Ron said to him quietly as they strode down the crowded avenue, "You just beat the most powerful wizard of our time and probably most of history, Harry. You had stares before, but now people really will be asking for your autograph." The other three both gave him withering looks and he fell silent.
Harry's eyes scanned the article, at the same time reading it out loud to his friends. It described the Battle of Hogwarts and how Harry had been thought dead before rising to defeat Voldemort. It also stated that he was now staying at the Weasley's, but that there was speculation about where he would go when his welcome there ran out. But to Harry's immense relief, there was no mention of the Elder Wand or the Deathly Hallows. If either of those names had come up it could have meant a lot of trouble for him; no doubt a lot of wizards would be willing to try to steal something as precious as an unbeatable Wand.
Hermione had arranged to meet Neville and Luna at Flourish and Blotts before spending the rest of the afternoon with them back in Diagon Alley buying the rest of their school supplies. But before that, the other four had some business to attend to at Gringotts.
Towers of scaffolding had been erected around the front of the goblin bank. A makeshift canopy had been temporarily hung over the gaping hole in the roof, allowing business to continue as normal in the bank. Hundreds of goblin workers were crawling among the frameworks of the huge white building, hauling blacks of marble, chipping at the stone of the building, studying blueprints and plans of the elaborate bank.
Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny walked through the arch where the front door should be. All but Ginny were regarded with cold glares and dark looks. And no wonder, Harry thought. The last time he and his other two friends had come through this hall, it had been on the spiked back of a blind dragon, and they had dealt extensive damage to the premises. A goblin's revenge was said to be truly terrible, and Harry had no wish to face the wrath of an entire building full of the creatures.
The entrance hall of Gringotts was not as full of activity as it once was. Only a few desks held the scales which the goblins used to weigh the value of precious stones and other items. Griphook was attending a veiled witch at one of the desks, and Harry had a very strong urge to curse the miserable beast into oblivion, goblin revenge or no. Only with the greatest restraint did he manage to loosen his grip on the handle of his wand.
The goblin at the head desk peered up at them through sickle shaped spectacles as they approached, and his lips drew back into what could almost be called a snarl. Harry almost gasped when he recognized him; it was Bogrod, the goblin he had put under the Imperious Curse earlier that year when they stole Hufflepuff's cup from the vault of Bellatrix Lestrange.
Attempting not to see the murderous glances directed at them by more than a hundred goblins, Harry marched up to the goblin's desk. He pulled his hood down as he looked up at the goblin and lowered his voice when he spoke; he had no desire to be identified as the savior of the wizarding world and the defeater of Voldemort by the twenty or so other magic folk wandering the hall.
"I'm Harry James Potter and I've come to make a withdrawal," he said formally. The goblin held out his clawed hand impatiently, his eyes narrowed to slits.
"Key please," Bogrod said icily, sounding as if it pained him to make it a request. Harry dug through his pockets, searching relentlessly for the key to his vault with one hand. The other was beneath his cloak, tightly gripping the handle of his wand. Two minutes and three frustrated coughs later, he was sliding a small golden key across the glass desk, making an infuriating scratching sound as it went.
The goblin looked less than pleased.
They were led off the main chamber by a smaller goblin by the name of Emrad. The normal carts that led down to the vaults were currently unavailable for use because of the massive damage to the bank's underground rail system. Instead, temporary platforms had been installed by the Ministry, which used Levitation magic to float to the vaults the controller chose.
The platforms were made of smooth stone. They were perfectly round with sturdy rails that were as high as Harry's waist surrounding them, with twin gates directly opposite each other. As they boarded one of the hovering platforms, Harry became quite nervous when he saw a frightening gleam in the corner of the goblin's eye. He quickly grabbed onto the railing.
"Hold on tight," he muttered to Ginny as she came to stand by him. She threw him a rebellious look, but as he turned away, he saw her latch her hands around the railing in a death grip. Hidden from her eyes, Harry grinned. Ron and Hermione were still standing in the centre of the stone circle, but rather than give them a warning, he decided to take it as an opportunity to further mend his friendship with the youngest Weasley.
"Let's watch the show," he whispered in Ginny's ear. She made no real reaction, but Harry swore the corners of her mouth twitched slightly. The tension between them was slowly draining away.
The trip down to the vaults was just like he thought; amusing, but at the same time, frightening. A quick look over the side made even Harry's stomach lurch; the stone floor that they had run along on their last visit here was invisible, hidden by the perpetual darkness of the underground bank. In the distance the sound of thousands of hammers echoed eerily, accompanied by the sound of splashing water.
The platform moved at alarming speeds, and several times the platform jerked dangerously, throwing Ron and Hermione off their feet. It took two more falls before the couple saw the light and grasped the railing. Ginny was already leaning over the edge, her face a delicate shade of green.
"It's the magical properties of the stone Gringotts was built on," Emrad explained, as the platform jolted again, "It interferes with most kinds of human magic." But Harry thought he detected a hint of wicked glee in the chilling smile the goblin gave them.
When they did reach the vault, Hermione and Ron were the first off, followed by a pale faced Ginny. Harry climbed onto the raised area in front of his vault last, with Emrad bringing up the rear.
"Remind me never to come on one of these bloody things again," Ron groaned, leaning against a wall and holding his stomach. For once, Hermione didn't reprimand him for his language, although her lips did visibly thin.
The door to Harry's vault was made of an odd, seamless stone. It was jet black, yet shone with an unnaturally bright luster. Carvings ran up and down the sides of the ten foot door, each of a different kind of magical creature. There was everything from a hippogriff and a dragon at the top to a niffler and a kneazle at the bottom. The lock also appeared to have been changed. Where once there had just been a slot for the key, there was now a hole about the size and shape of his hand in the centre.
Emrad slipped the key into the lock, before stepping back, "Mr. Potter, if you would put your hand into the slot." Harry watched apprehensively as he slid his hand into the space reserved for him alone. Seconds later he pulled it back with muttered oath. A single drop of blood ran down from the point of his finger where the skin had been pierced. He stared at the goblin, who shrugged.
"New security measures," Emrad said. Seeing Harry's incredulous stare, the goblin's eyes flashed, "It was necessary after we … discovered … that our current security wasn't sufficient to keep out all thieves." Harry hurriedly turned back to the door to his vault as it emitted a quiet hiss. Steam was shooting out from a line that was appearing down the centre of the previously faultless stone. A few seconds later the hissing of the steam was gone, as the ancient hinges groaned open.
Piles of golden galleons, silver sickles and bronze knuts greeted them as they entered the extensive vault. Precious stones were encased in glass boxes, with locks made of pure gold. Other boxes contained deeds and business contracts stamped with the seal of the Potter House. Everything seemed extremely valuable.
Striding toward a small stack of galleons, Harry tried not to notice the impressed looks the other three were throwing around the vault. He was particularly worried about Ron and Ginny's reactions. The Weasleys were extremely kind, but were also tremendously poor. Their family vault never contained more than a few galleons at a time. But Harry's fears proved unfounded. The two of them were looking around in awe, amazed by the sight of so much wealth.
Not wanting to prolong the stay, Harry scooped up several piles of galleons and tossed them in the sack that he had gotten off Bogrod at the front desk. He turned back toward the door, but something caught his eye. Walking over to a small desk in the corner of the vaults, he examined the small object lying atop it. It was a silver ring, with an ornate 'P' carved into the surface of a plate that sat on the top. Not understanding how he knew, Harry abruptly realised that this must be the seal of the Potter house. He picked up the ring and carefully slipped it into his shirt pocket.
"Let's go," he said to the others. Together, the four of them and Emrad climbed back onto the platform, this time with Ron and Hermione both holding the railing. Ginny and Harry shared a small smirk as the platform sped off in the direction of the Weasley vault.
Ten minutes later, they were all strolling along in the open air of Diagon Alley, shielding their eyes from the glare of the sunlight, so bright after the dark tunnels of the Gringotts vaults. It was a gasp from Harry's right that drew his attention. He glanced around and saw a young boy of about five years staring at him in something between shock and awe. Too late, Harry realised that the hood of his cloak had fallen off in the high speed winds that streamed past the floating platforms of the goblin bank. Cursing, he quickly pulled the hood back up. But the damage had been done.
Whispers and stares followed them as they approached Flourish and Blotts, reminding Harry uncomfortably of his first and fifth years at Hogwarts. On both of those occasions he had been alienated from the rest of the student body, first by his fame, and then by the Ministry's desire to label him as a madman. Having to feel so separate was not something he enjoyed, and there was a growing bud of anger in him when they reached the bookshop with a growing group of wizards and witches trailing behind.
Neville and Luna were already inside. The Gryffindor was examining the books in the aisle marked 'Magical Flora and Herbs', with Luna leaning on his arm. Despite his heavy involvement in the battle, Neville had come out rather well. The only sign that he had been involved was a long, white scar running from his forehead back into his dark hair, visible now that his bandages had been removed. Luna seemed a little worse for wear; her blue, orb-like eyes were shadowed, with no trace of her normally dreamy gaze. Her dirty blonde hair was slightly tangled, slowly growing back from where it had been hacked off at the shoulder during her months of captivity.
Neville approached Harry with a warm smile and an outstretched hand, "It's so good to see you, Harry."
Harry gripped the round faced man's hand firmly, "It's great to see you again too Neville. And you too Luna." Neville and Luna beamed as they were greeted by their old friends. Ginny was watching Luna with a slightly worried frown, obviously wondering about the state of her oldest friend.
"Are you alright?" Ginny asked tentatively, looking Luna over as if to search for further signs of ailments.
Luna smiled faintly, "I've been feeling a little off color for a few days now. Don't worry, I'll be fine soon." For some reason, this mention of her illness earned her a warning glance from Neville, which she returned challengingly. Eventually the Gryffindor just sighed and shook his head.
"You seem to be attracting quite a crowd Harry," he said, nodding toward the increasingly large mob of wizards and witches gathered out the front of Flourish and Blotts. Harry grimaced when he saw people lifting up several bulky cameras and take a quick picture of him. Would it never end?
Neville grinned at the look on Harry's face, "That bad, huh? Me and Gran have been working on restoring the house for a few days. The Death Eaters really took the place apart when they went after her. We've restored most of the bedrooms and the kitchens, but it will still take a while before we get around to repairing the greenhouses. Gran'll be staying at her friend's place while I'm at Hogwarts."
"So you're returning as well?" Hermione asked in surprise, "To Hogwarts I mean."
"Well you could hardly say we learned much last year," Neville said wryly, "The so-called 'professors' were teaching how to torture and slaughter, hardly a constructive form of education."
They wandered around the shop for a while, picking up the things that they needed. Harry picked up a new copy of Advanced Potion Making with a grimace; the last one he had owned had caused him to cheat in Potions class and a spell written in the margins had nearly killed Draco Malfoy. After that time, all thoughts of retrieving the Half-Blood Prince's copy had been driven from his mind, and now there would be no opportunity to do so again. All traces of Snape's old Potions text book had been destroyed by a blast of Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement.
The crowd gathered outside was gradually becoming a little braver. Several Harry was distracted by a tugging on his sleeve to see a small child staring at him in wonder, before holding out a copy of the Daily Prophet and timidly asking for his autograph. In the first case he came very close to refusing, but instead sighed and signed his signature. He was even more embarrassed when he tried to pay the man at the desk, but the man excitedly shouted that Harry Potter and his friend's books were free of charge. He glared at Ron when he saw his friend giving him a look that said 'I told you so'.
They left Flourish and Blotts with the carry bags they had brought heavy from their newly acquired loads. The crowd parted before Harry and his friends, and Harry was uncomfortably aware of the stares he was drawing. From there the group split in two, with Luna, Hermione and Ginny heading off in the direction of Madam Malkin's, and the three men moving off toward Quality Quidditch Supplies. Ginny had looked like she wanted to join the men, but had relented enough to join the other witches on their trip to the robe shop.
Harry felt slightly out of place with younger witches and wizards running around the shop. And yet he couldn't help glancing around the store with a feeling of affection; Quidditch was part of him, and no amount of time would change that particular piece of his soul. Different models of broomsticks were stacked on the shelves, with every make and brand from Cleansweep, to Nimbus, to Firebolt. The sight of the Firebolts brought a twinge of sadness to Harry's stomach. There were hundreds of tins of broom polish and several stacks of broom care kits.
"What do you reckon the fuss is about?" Ron whispered, pointing to a large group of people gathered towards the back of the store. They were packed so tightly together that Harry couldn't see what they were all staring at. He didn't answer Ron, and the three of them slowly made their way forward to see what the stir was about. Harry heard an audible intake of breath as Ron saw what lay before the crowd. He was surprised that he wasn't the centre of attention. And then he saw what the crowd was looking at, and he knew.
A broomstick was raised on a small podium. Its handle was a long and beautifully polished black wood, with the twigs in the tail all neatly groomed. A price tag was hanging from the shaft of the broom, with an insanely large number of galleons written on it. And on the same tag was a single word; Cloudstrike.
Harry stared at it longingly. A drop of drool was sliding from Ron's mouth, and even Neville had a look of pure awe on his face.
Harry finally spoke, "Well, it had better be worth the price."
A small wizard who couldn't have been half Harry's height, or even half his age, turned and gave him a glare, "Are you daft? The Cloudstrike is supposed to have four times the speed and handling of the Firebolt. The Nimbus brand isn't even in the same league as this broom. All the international teams have been fighting over contracts with the makers." And then the boy caught sight of the lightning bolt shaped scar on Harry's forehead. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped, and after a second's hesitation he started tugging on the sleeve of a man Harry had no doubt was his older brother.
Harry grimaced and hurriedly turned and headed for the door, pulling a reluctant Ron and Neville with him. He would have loved to stay and ogle the Cloudstrike for a bit longer, but he had no desire to cause another scene like the one at Flourish and Blotts.
They had gotten most of the things they needed when Harry saw the sign for Eeylops' Owl Emporium. He felt a pang of loss and anger when he remembered Hedwig, and the jet of green light that had killed his one constant companion. He hesitated, but finally made his decision and strode into the barn-sized shop. The place reeked with the odor of bird droppings and straw. Perched upon rows on rows of metal roads in the ceiling, hundreds of owls were sleeping with their heads hidden under their wings. Behind a desk, a small wizard wearing an apron and sweating profusely was sweeping the wooden floors below.
"Excuse me," Harry called, trying to lower his voice so as not to wake up the many birds snoring away above his head. The man looked up at him, signaled Harry to wait a moment and propped his broom against his desk before hurrying out a small door. He was back mere seconds later, with his hands freshly washed and a wand sticking out of one of the apron's many pockets.
"What is it I can do for you good sir?" The man, who Harry assumed was Eeylop himself, said cheerfully, "We've got everything here at Eeylops'. We have barn owls, tawny owls, screech owls, snowy owls. We can get you an owl that can find any house in the world, or we can get you an owl trained to take your message directly to the recipient, no matter where they are. We have it all."
Harry considered getting another snowy like Hedwig, but decided against it, instead saying, "Are any of these owls experienced? Have any of them had any previous flights?"
Eeylop beamed, "I told you sir, we have everything here at the Owl Emporium. If you would follow me out the back." Leaving Ron and Neville to wander around the seemingly endless rows of owls, Eeylop and Harry proceeded through a small door at the back of the huge hall. Harry glanced around as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. It was similar to the other room, in that it had owls perched on rods in the rafters. But there was a slight difference. Where the other room had had owls of all shapes and sizes, these owls had an air of experience around them. Most of them were quite large, with the smallest being slightly larger than Pigwidgeon, but even those had a feeling of wisdom radiating out from them.
"The finest owls from all around," Eeylop said proudly, affectionately holding out a treat to a treat to a large tawny owl who took it with surprising dignity for an owl, "And each of them has their own history. Take this one," he pointed at a large screech owl, "he once chased a fellow who intended harm to the owl's master away. And this one," a small snowy owl, "he once foiled an attempted theft by carrying the jewels the crook wanted up into the rafters of the house." Eeylop went on for a few minutes, and Harry listened with mild interest. All he really wanted was an owl that could deliver his mail quickly and efficiently.
He finally decided on a medium sized tawny owl that had a fine pattern of brown and gold feathers on its wings. Upon pointing it out to the shop owner, Eeylop had smiled widely, "A fine choice good sir. That fellow has been here for a while now. He once saved his master's life by delivering a message to St. Mungo's within an hour of being given it. I'm sure you'll find he's one of the fastest mail owls that we've got here."
Harry nodded, "What's his name?"
And that was how Harry found himself walking back down Diagon Alley at dusk with a cage containing a tawny owl named Noctus in one hand, and his school supplies in the other. They entered the Leaky Cauldron to find the girls already seated at one of the tables. Ron pulled up a chair next to Hermione, and Neville sat down between Luna and Ginny. Harry almost sat down between Ginny and Hermione, but the feelings there were still sensitive, so he quietly asked Ron to move over, and sat down between him and Luna. Ginny's face was unreadable, but Harry thought he saw a flash of disappointment in her eyes.
The food was good, and the drink was better. The adults ordered Firewhiskeys, leaving Luna and Ginny to drink some Butterbeer. The two girls had birthdays in August, when they would officially come of age in the wizarding world. They looked slightly jealous of the others, but otherwise didn't comment.
"There's a new brand of broom come out," Ron told Hermione in an earnest voice, "It's called the Cloudstrike. It's got four times the speed and handling of the Firebolt. Four times, Hermione."
Hermione rolled her eyes, "Honestly Ron, there's more important things out there than Quidditch and the newest brand of brooms!" She went back to her meal, but Harry noticed there was a look of longing in Ginny's eyes, as if she wished she hadn't been persuaded by Hermione to go and buy new robes over ogling a brand new broom model.
Ron began muttering darkly at Hermione's simple dismissal of something so important to him, yet Harry noticed that neither Neville nor Luna had joined in the conversation much. Turning to look at them, he saw Neville murmuring something in her ear, and Luna nodding reluctantly. Harry caught her eye, but she just shook her head as if to say it was nothing.
As he went back to his meal, an odd type of fish that looked suspiciously like one of Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts, he saw something shift in the corner of his eye. He glanced across the room and saw a hooded man staring at him. For A shiver of unease ran down his back. This fellow wasn't like the hundreds of other people who had gawked at Harry for most of the day. His eyes weren't visible in the darkness beneath his cowl, but Harry could feel the man's piercing gaze as much as he could feel the soft comfort of the Leaky Cauldron. It was then that Harry realised something else. Emblazoned on the man's cloak, directly above his heart, a small red insignia stood out from the field of black. Harry couldn't quite make it out, but there was something horribly familiar about it. The feeling of unease grew.
Pretending that nothing was out of the ordinary, he picked up his cutlery, inconspicuously nudging his friend in the ribs, "Ron, look at that man in the corner."
The Weasley seemed to recognize Harry's urgent tone. He put down his own fork, and his hand crept slowly beneath the table towards his pocket, where it would no doubt pick up the wand sitting there. Feigning casualness, Ron stretched, and his eyes darted in the direction of the corner Harry had seen the hooded man in. The wary look on his face quickly became confusion, which eventually turned into annoyance.
"What are you on about Harry?" he said angrily, "You scared me half to death."
Harry spun in his seat. Where the man had been sitting mere moments before, there was nothing but an empty chair. Lost for words, he looked back at Ron and was somewhat annoyed to find that both he and Hermione were conversing in whispers, occasionally throwing him a worried look. Snatches of their conversation reached him, with the words 'lake' and 'covered in blood' standing out. It infuriated him that they could still treat him like this, with so little faith.
He leaned over to them, whispering furiously, "Look, I didn't imagine the man by the lake, and there really was a man standing in that corner just a few seconds ago. You have to believe me. I'm not lying; why would I?"
Ron gave a nervous laugh, "Come on Harry, we believe you." Hermione gave Harry a very piercing look before going back to her own meal. Harry didn't mention the cloaked figure again, although once or twice he cast a furtive look at the corner, as if hoping the man would magically reappear.
It was only when Ron downed his seventh mug of Firewhiskey and began a warbling rendition of the Weird Sisters that the other five seemed to come to their senses and decided take him home. Harry didn't have a clue how they ever managed to maneuver Ron through the Floo passages, especially with the boisterous Weasley continually patting Hermione on the back and talking about married life with a hundred children. Hermione's cheeks were tinged a bright pink as she supported Ron up the stairs of the Burrow to his room, but there was a firm set to her jaw, and a frightening glint in her eye. Mrs. Weasley was watching with dark disapproval, and she glared at Ginny when the youngest Weasley couldn't seem to stop giggling at the sight of her drunken brother.
Harry fell asleep with Ron's inebriated ramblings echoing in his ears. But his dreams were far from peaceful. He woke up several times in a cold sweat, unable to block the image of a hooded figure and a familiar symbol from his sleeping mind.
------------------
The weeks until they had to return to Hogwarts passed by at the speed of a crawling Flobberworm. Harry was slightly annoyed by the fact that it was the reporters waiting on the Burrow's eaves that prevented him going outside and enjoying the summer warmth with the others. There were good times as well as bad of course. Mr. Weasley came home one night with brilliant news; Kingsley had given him a raise of ten galleons. As a celebration, he had bought tickets for them to the first Quidditch match of the new season. The game was close, with the Holyhead Harpies beating the Chudley Canons by only thirty points. Ron hadn't spoken to Ginny for a week afterwards.
And that was how Harry found himself being woken on the thirty first of July by Ron shouting at him that he was eighteen. Harry groaned and rolled over, trying very hard to go back to the sleep that was even now slipping away from him. He finally gave it up as a bad job and instead threw his pillow at his best friend, muttering mutinously about idiots who had no right to wake their friends up, even if it was said friend's birthday.
He eventually managed to pull on some clothes and went down to breakfast. The Grangers and Weasleys were already all seated at the table, with what could only be described as a feast prepared on the table. Mrs. Weasley jumped up as soon as Harry entered the room, and within moments he was engulfed in a constricting hug.
"Thanks Mrs. Weasley," he managed to gasp out once she finally released him. The old witch smiled warmly and invited him to take a seat. Everyone else offered their own congratulations, with Bill and Charlie giving Harry somewhat frosty smiles before going back to their breakfast. Andromeda Tonks showed up with a very bouncy Teddy, whose hair was a vivid emerald colour, and even Percy had come in from London to wish Harry a happy birthday.
"The Minister has asked me to pass on his congratulations," the third Weasley said pompously, "And I must wish you the very best for your year ahead." Harry had a difficult time keeping a straight face at the seriousness of Percy's facial expression. Despite the fact that he had made up with his family, he was still very ambitious on the inside.
Mrs. Weasley had, as usual, outdone herself. Plates laden with bacon, eggs, pancakes, pikelets and muffins covered every inch of the table, and everyone enjoyed a hearty feast. Despite the memories that would haunt him upon his return to the castle, Harry was looking forward to the new term at Hogwarts. It would give him an escape from the crowds of reporters and fans, and it would help take his mind off the future, which was something he seemed to worry about more often than he remembered.
"I've heard that they're introducing some new courses at Hogwarts this year," Mr. Weasley said conversationally as he carved up an excessively large piece of pork, "Dolewhin told me that the education department Heads have been in a flurry trying to sort it all out. Dolores Umbridge is still causing trouble where learning is concerned, I'm afraid."
"Bloody toad," Ron muttered, earning him a halfhearted slap from Hermione. Harry silently agreed with him. He made no outward reaction, but his grip on his cutlery tightened.
"What are the new courses, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, giving Hermione an approving look and Ron a dark one.
"Jerry wasn't exactly clear on that," Mr. Weasley replied, a smile playing on his lips, "But he did say, that apart from the 'toad's' interference, the decision to take the new courses caused a bit of dispute as high up as the wizards and witches in the Wizengamot."
"Percy, surely you've heard something about it," Ginny said, "I mean, with you working with the Minister and all." Everyone turned to him expectantly and Harry realised that the third Weasley hadn't spoken since his father first brought up the subject.
Percy cleared his throat, a rather uncomfortable look on his face, "Well, Minister Shacklebolt has indeed heard about these matters. There was a bit of opposition at first, but the Minister managed to smooth the situation over rather well. At least, the Wizengamot was appeased."
"Do you know what the courses are about?" Harry inquired.
Percy's evident unease grew, "Well I can't really reveal anything before the start of the term. It would be unfair to the other students and an abuse of my position." Seeing the scowls directed at him by the ones who would be attending school, he sighed, "It's only one more day of waiting, I'm sure the Headmistress will announce it tomorrow evening at the feast."
There was a round of grumbling, but everyone slowly broke off into their own conversations. The Grangers seemed a bit out of place amongst so many magic folk, but they seemed to get along well with both of the head Weasleys, who seemed to share a surprisingly similar outlook on a large number of things. Harry didn't fail to notice the furtive, hopeful looks that his two best friends were throwing between the two groups of parents.
After breakfast, Mr. Weasley had another announcement; he had managed to book a minor Quidditch pitch for the rest of the day. The Weasleys, the Grangers and Harry all went down to the outskirts of London where the pitch had been set up for their use. It was a full-size field, mostly used for practice by the national teams, meaning it would be like a real match. Another advantage was that the reporters had no idea where they were, so Harry could fly with the others without having to worry about a camera flashing in his face when he landed. And to Harry's surprise – and Ron's greatest delight – the Chudley Canons arrived just as they were leaving. The Canons seemed even more star struck by Harry, than Ron was by them. Regardless, the professional team was more than willing to give the excited Weasley a series of autographs.
They arrived back at the Burrow in the evening, utterly exhausted, but excitement still coursing through them. They were still talking about the events of the day when Mrs. Weasley ushered them all into the sitting room, where a large pile of presents awaited Harry. Mrs. Weasley settled down into a large armchair, pointing her wand at some knitting needles which flew into a flurry of movement. Mr. Weasley and the elder sons stood around the fireplace, and Ginny curled up on one end of the lounge, while Ron and Hermione to snuggle up to each other on the other end. So Harry was left to sit on the floor with his back to the fireplace, while people threw their presents to him.
The first gift, wrapped tightly in green cloth, was from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. It was tied with a bright red ribbon, and inside was a box of Mrs. Weasley's home made fudge, as well as a small framed picture of Harry, Hermione and the rest of the Weasley family standing in front of the Burrow. The people in the photo waved furiously at him, and the smaller Harry had a wide smile on his face. The real Harry also smiled and thanked the Weasley family heads.
The next was a joint present from Ron and Hermione. He correctly guessed the large square shape to be a book, although the actually seemed to hold some interest for him for once; An Auror's Training: Constant Vigilance in Diverse Situations by Hanley Stubbord. Ron had apparently decided to be a bit more original, having got Harry a box of Honeyduke's chocolate and a new set of marble chess pieces. Harry had lost his old set a long time ago, and Ron no doubt wanted the chance to trounce him in another match. He grinned at his friends, who both gave him a warm smile.
Neville and Luna had sent him a set of wand care products, including a tin of polish and a cloth that removed any jinxes or curses that tried to tamper with the wand's power. Harry feigned shock and happiness when he received A Guide To N.E.W.Ts from Percy. Charlie handed him a small box with a somewhat frightening smile, saying that it was from Bill too. Harry smiled weakly, but slipped the box into his pocket as soon as the Weasley's back was turned, resolving to open it later in the safety of Ron's room. He wasn't exactly surprised when there was no present from Ginny.
Mrs. Weasley was on the verge of shooing them all to bed when there came an odd thumping noise. Everyone sat deathly still. It seemed to be coming from the stairwell, and as the minutes passed, it sounded as if it was getting closer. Finally a shadow appeared at the top of the stairs, and the figure of George hobbled down the last few steps into the room. Harry had barely seen the remaining twin over the weeks, but he appeared to be in a worse condition than when Harry had spoken to him on his first few days back at the Burrow, if that was possible. His eyes were bloodshot, and his skin was a sickly pale yellow colour.
Nobody moved for a second, and then George rasped quietly, "What? I'm not dead you know, even if I look it." Mrs. Weasley jumped out of her chair and wrapped her arms around George, being careful not to squeeze too tightly. He hadn't eaten much over the past few weeks, and was looking impossibly frail in his thinness.
"Oi, get off me mum," he managed to whisper indignantly, "There are people around."
He slowly made his way across the room towards Harry, a grubbily wrapped package in his outstretched hand, "I know it's not much, but it is your birthday, and he wouldn't have wanted me to forget that."
"Thanks, George," Harry said appreciatively, taking the present from his old friend, "It means a lot, you know." George mumbled something incoherent before slumping into a seated position on the floor. The other Weasley men hurried forwards, but George tried to wave them off. To Harry's surprise, it was Percy who George let support him. Even though the third Weasley had healed the rift, he didn't realise they were this close.
"Well," George growled, "Are you going to open it or not?" Harry tore at the wrapping paper, although he thought he knew what the twin had got him. His assumptions were correct; inside was the silver Tricky Tracker, giving off a slight shine in the dim light. He gave George a grateful look, but the Weasley just waved him off.
"So what are your plans for the school year Harry?" George asked, genuine interest registering in his hollow eyes.
Harry opened his mouth to reply, but was drowned out by Mrs. Weasley, "Oh no. These children have to be up bright and early in the morning, and that means one thing; bed now!"
"Mum," Ron argued, "Me, Harry and Hermione are already adults. And Ginny is almost an adult anyway."
Mrs. Weasley didn't look like she was used to being crossed. She glared at her youngest son, "Almost an adult, is not an adult. Ginny, up to bed, now." Ginny gave her a rebellious look, but sullenly trudged from the room, she rounded on the other three, "And as long as you live in my house, you'll follow my rules; up to bed."
"Well it's not only your house," Ron protested, "Dad owns it too, so he has some say." He ignored the murderous look his mother was giving him and turned to his father, "Tell her, Dad."
Mr. Weasley gave Ron a weary smile, "I think you had better listen to your mother on this one, Ron."
"Traitor," Ron muttered as he got to his feet with Hermione still in his arms. Harry followed them, gathering all of his presents up in his arms. The rest of the family said goodnight, and the trio made their weary way upstairs. Hermione bade them goodnight on the first floor, disappearing into the darkness of Ginny's room. Ron looked sorry to see her go, but continued upstairs with Harry in companionable silence. It was only when they reached the landing in front of Ron's room that Harry slapped his forehead.
"My wand," he exclaimed, "I must have left it downstairs." He left Ron standing on the steps of the Burrow, hurrying back the way he had come. But as he came to the last landing, he heard hushed voices echoing out of the sitting room. Wishing he had his invisibility cloak with him so he could get closer, he leant toward the corner without actually putting his head into the view of the people talking there.
"… wasn't just our Ministry that had problems with the courses." Harry recognized Percy's voice, now filled with a surprising amount of concern.
"And I can see why." Harry didn't need to look at Mrs. Weasley to know she was angry, "It's utter foolishness to even attempt to teach children such advanced magic." It dawned on Harry that they were talking about the new subjects at Hogwarts, and he strained his ears to catch every word.
"With the war and everything just over, the Minister thinks it would be better if the students are properly prepared in case such a situation ever arises again," Percy explained, "And it's also good preparation for any who want to go into Law enforcement positions later in life."
"But still, I wouldn't want any of my children-"
At that moment, Harry's luck ran out. The stair that he was leaning on creaked loudly, and all conversation stopped at once. Harry scrambled to his feet and walked into the room as casually as he could, acting as if he hadn't heard a word. All of the adults were glaring at him suspiciously, apart from George who was partially behind the others. He was grinning widely and giving Harry a silent thumbs up.
"I think I dropped my wand down here," he said in what he hoped was an innocent voice. The others just watched him disbelievingly as he bent over by the lounge and looked under. As he thought, his wand was lying there. He grabbed it up and strode from the room as fast as he could without breaking into a run. By the time he was back at Ron's landing, he was more than a little puffed.
"D'you find it?" Ron asked as Harry burst into the bedroom.
"Yeah, but listen to this." A frown appeared on Ron's face as Harry relayed what he had overheard.
"It sounds like even foreign Ministries have been disagreeing with this," Ron said, a thoughtful look on his face, "It must be a pretty big deal."
Harry nodded, "And don't forget what Percy said about the courses relating to Law enforcement positions. It might be a class on really advanced defensive magic, you know, that wears you out really quick." He was about to change into his pajamas when he felt the bulky shape of Bill and Charlie's present in his back pocket. He examined the box, turning it over in his fingers. He considered destroying it without opening it, but decided to give Ginny's brothers a chance. They had been acting more like their usual selves over the past weeks. Still, there was no need to not take precautions.
He placed the box on Ron's desk and whipped out his wand. He motioned for Ron to stand behind him; he didn't really think whatever was in the box was dangerous, but if it was something like a prank, it wouldn't be fair for his friend to take the brunt of the joke for Harry. Ron seemed to understand, and backed up to the door. Turning back to the small gift, Harry aimed his wand at the lid of the box.
"Wingardium Leviosa," he muttered. The lid of the box lifted … and something indescribable shot out of the black space within. It was formless, constantly shifting. And Harry suddenly knew what it was, and he was afraid. He wanted to run, but for some reason he couldn't. He had no wish to see the form the Boggart would take, yet it was as if his feet were glued to the floor. It was taking much longer than usual to choose a form. His mouth fell open as the Boggart finally settled on a shape, and despite the anguished cry he let out, he couldn't look away.
His two greatest fears had become one. In seconds, the temperature in Ron's bedroom dropped from the comfortable warm of summer to an almost icy cold. On the floor in front of him, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were lying prone, terror written across their faces. And bending over each one was the shadowy form of a Dementor. Their hoods were drawn back, revealing their gaping mouths and eyeless faces, and they were leaning in toward their prey to deliver the Kiss that would suck out his friend's souls. Harry tried to raise his wand, to defend his friends, but it was as if he was suffocating. He could hear Ron, the real Ron, calling urgently to him, as if from a very great distance.
One by one, the Dementors put their gaping mouths on the lips of Harry's terrified friends and sucked their souls out through their mouths, leaving the victim's eyes lifeless and staring. Each time that one person's soul was sucked out, Harry let out a strangled sob. And when all three of his closest friends were done for, the Dementors turned toward him, their scabbed hands clawing. Harry almost offered himself to them, to escape the pain that was tearing at his chest.
They reached out and grabbed his shoulders … and suddenly the Dementors were retreating, being driven back by a silver Jack Russell Terrier. And Ron was grabbing him by the shoulders and shoving him out of the way, a look of fury painted across his features. The Dementors and the prone forms of Harry's friends disappeared, replaced by a gigantic spider. But Ron didn't seem to be as affected by the sight of his greatest fear as he normally would. He roared, "Riddikulus!" and the Boggart was forced back into its formless state. With another spell, Ron pushed the shape shifter back into the box where it had come from, and slammed the lid shut.
Harry lay, panting and shivering on the bed. As in his previous encounters with Dementors, the experience had left him utterly drained of energy. He also realised that he was angry. Furious in fact. What right did Ginny have to force his greatest fear on him when he was least prepared for it? Despite the effort it took to stand, he somehow found his feet, at the same time, grabbing his wand from where he had dropped it. Ron was looking at him with honest worry. He rushed forward as Harry struggled to remain erect, much as the other Weasleys had for George earlier that same evening. Harry was thankful for his best mate's support, but waved him off firmly before trudging out the door.
Bill and Charlie were standing on the landing, smug smirks on their faces. "I think that'll teach you not to-" Charlie never got to finish his sentence, as he was blown off his feet by a Stunning spell. Bill didn't have time to reach for his wand as he too was knocked off his feet by a shouted "Stupefy!" The rest of the Weasleys, who had gathered on the stairs below, shouted in protest and alarm. Harry pushed roughly past them, ignoring them calling his name. Hermione caught his sleeve, but he pulled it away and hurried on. Within a few more seconds he had reached the bottom of the stairs, rushed out the front door and Disapparated with a loud crack. The last thing he saw was Ron and Hermione rushing out the front door towards him.
The graveyard of Godric's Hollow was eerily quiet. Light shone in the windows of the houses and hotels that lined the avenue, but to Harry they seemed dull and miserable rather than bright and cheery. The tombstones stuck up from the ground like broken teeth in the twilight. A light wind disturbed the dead leaves, swirling them around Harry's feet and wrapping his cloak around his hunched form.
He fell to his knees before the graves of his parents, his wand sliding out of his hand onto the soft earth of the burial ground. His glasses glistened in the light of the waning moon, it having been whole a few days previously. He reached out a hand and traced his fingers along the grooves of the curling writing engraved on the tombstones of Lily and James Potter. Anger surged through him at the thought of what Bill and Charlie had done to him, but there was also a great sadness. No matter how hard he tried, things never wanted to end the easy way.
He didn't know how long he stayed there, his hand outstretched against his parents' grave. The moon rose to the peak of the sky and began its slow descent before he shifted and put his back to the tombstone, feeling his eyes drifting closed.
BOOM!
Harry cursed and jumped to his feet, his eyes going wide as graves and tombstones around him exploded in flashes of green light. Straining his eyes to see into the shadows that engulfed the burial ground, he caught sight of several hooded figures standing in the darkness on the edges of his vision, jets of emerald green light shooting from wands and obliterating dozens of tombstones.
Harry gave a shout of anger as one of the blasts came perilously close to him, utterly destroying the grave next to his parents' final resting place. There was no uncertainty in his mind that he was the target of the vicious attack. No rogue wizard gang would bother to try and ambush a lone person of unknown value in the middle of one of England's most famous wizarding communities. No, he was the intended victim of this assault. But why?
There was no time to sit and wonder. Another blast of the Killing Curse swept past him, telling him something else; he wasn't going to be captured. The aim of these mysterious opponents was to kill him. So Protego and Shield Charms weren't going to be much use in this situation.
He snatched his wand from the ground where he had dropped it hours ago, pointing at one of the moving shapes and roaring, "Stupefy!" The red light from the spell momentarily lit up the darkness of the night, and he counted that there were at least four of them as he dived behind a crumbling tombstone. Seconds later there was a shout of, "Behind the broken one! Avada Kedavra!" Harry leapt to his feet and sprinted for cover as the headstone he had been hiding behind was destroyed. He jumped behind another gravestone just as the ground behind him exploded in a spray of green light. He abruptly decided that since the rules appeared to have been completely ignored by those attacking him, then there was no reason for him to fight fair.
As another jet of emerald green soared over his head, he leapt to his feet, pointed his wand at where he had seen the Killing Curse came from and shouted, "Crucio!" There was a high pitched screaming as the Unforgivable found its target. He should have used the Avada Kedavra, but he didn't really have the stomach to do that without proper need yet. The Cruciatus was almost as effective anyway.
Two Killing Curses collided with his hiding place, blasting it to pieces. Harry shot more Cruciatus' out into the night as he ran for cover, willing as much pain into the Unforgivables as he could. He was running out of hiding places. This section of the graveyard was mostly low lying tombs with a small plaque engraved into them. There was nothing to hide behind. He glanced around desperately, searching for anything that he could use as cover. And then he saw it.
A single tombstone was standing alone in the middle of the destruction, and the ground where the body was usually buried had been ripped apart. Not thinking about the fact that he was about to defile somebody's grave, Harry sprinted across the open space. He could hear shouts of Avada Kedavra and saw the Killing Curse blow the earth all around him into the air. He focused on the hole, willing himself to move faster, cursing himself for not eating any chocolate after the Dementor incident. He was metres away from it when the earth beneath his feet exploded, and he was thrown bodily into the grave.
As soon as he landed he moved into a crouch pointing his wand into the night sky above, waiting for someone to approach. There was something odd about the tombstone; something familiar. And then the light from a Killing Curse lit up the face of the headstone and Harry's blood ran cold. The two words Ignotus Perevel were lit up for a mere second, but for Harry it seemed like centuries passed him by. For now he knew which grave he was in. He knew that the grave he was in would never be excavated, not unless there was a reason for it.
The feeling of dread growing in the pit of his stomach, his eyes roved the floor of the deep burial place. He was oblivious to the flashes of green light that flared over his head. His throat constricted when he found what he sought. The skeleton did not frighten him, not in the slightest. But the piece of red silk cloth near the skeleton's skull did. With trembling fingers, he grabbed the piece of material and unfolded it as fast as he could, hoping against hope that what he sought was still there. The last piece of cloth fell open, and Harry choked out a dry sob.
The scarlet silk sheet was empty.
The Elder Wand was gone.
Sorry for the long wait. I had heaps of stuff to bring home from work and do and I've had no typing time. some things can't be helped.
Okay, first thing; the Elder Wand. A number of reviewers have pointed out 'holes' in story regarding the rules and rituals associated with the wand. Trust me, all apparent rifts in the story regarding matters like ownership duels have been taken care of. Secondly; the last chapter regarding harry/ginny. I've rewritten it. It's still not great, but its better. I think.
Thanks for the reviews. I'd like a BETA. Or someone who gives me a kick in the pants when I don't update. Whatever.
Red