Ahhh, daisies. I was bored and stayed home 'cause I was sick, so... lucky you all. Have another chapter while you're at it.
pouts
Just a bit of drabble, really. Wait another chapter for the story to start speeding up.
And no, I'm almost positive I still am not richer then the Royal Family of Britian. Guess I don't own Harry Potter.
Chapter Two: Hidden Meanings
SinkingSinkingSinking
What. The. Hell.
Voldemort was coming for him, eh? Coming to fulfill the prophecy. And he'd asked Harry to be ready; oh, well, Harry'd bloody well be ready. Although, he thought rather snidely, it had certianly been nice to have a warning before he died.
He knew, deep inside, that he had no chance at defeating Voldemort; he knew it. Especially after being out of touch with magic for a month as opposed to the Dark Lord spouting off 'Crucio!' every ten minutes. He didn't have nearly the knowledge that the Dark Lord did, nor the followers, nor the spell repetoire.
And how had Dumbledore told him he'd prevail, again? Out of... love? You know, that thing that no one showed Harry?
Sure, there were Hermione and Ron. But, really, that was more of a best-mate thing. Ron and Hermy were obviously slowly falling head-over-heels for eachother. And amusingly enough to Harry's new-found sadism, they seemed to be the only ones not realizing that the other felt the same way. Hell, even Longbottom had commented on it.
And, ofcourse, there was Sirius. Good ole Sirius. But he was dead, now, wasn't he?
So, Harry realized, he was all alone. Perhaps he was better that way. He had time to send Hedwig to the Order for, help, though, he supposed, but...
Morbidly, Harry asked himself...
...wasn't he allowed to be selfish sometimes, too? Wasn't he allowed to, well... just let it all end? Let old Voldie off him? Wasn't it his right to get knackered of it all? Maybe, just maybe... he could be free of the trials of his life. Be free of the burdens; let other people finish the war.
He'd be... free. And, somehow, that thought appealed to him.
Then he could see Sirius again.
But before that would happen, he'd be waiting. Oh, yes, he would wait. Voldemort had said he'd come--the only person Harry had never heard utter a lie had said he would come. And then it'd all be over.
Harry grinned, in spite of himself, as he dozed off to sleep.
SinkingSinkingSinking
Unfortunately enough, Harry's plans did not take away his responsibilities concerning the morning, and he was woken as he always was:
"Boy! Get up this instant! Breakfast won't make itself!" Called the shrill voice of his aunt. Groaning, Harry plied his numb limbs off of the bed, and stood, trudging over to the door. Guess he'd have to keep on living, for now...
As Harry started cracking eggs on the side of the pan, a grumpy old lard--er, his uncle--walked into the room and sat down, the poor wooden chair creeking. Ignoring the presence of the Potter boy, Vernon reached onto the table and picked up his daily paper. Apparantly it was interesting enough, as Harry never once got insulted until he'd finally finished cooking the eight eggs--none of which would be his--five pancakes(Dudley had lost five pounds, so, logically, his parents rewarded him by trying to fatten him up again)--and sliced chunks of... grapefruit. Most of which would be his. Lovely.
As Harry worked upon setting the table in silence, Vernon called up the stairs:
"Duddykins! Petunia--the food's ready! Come on down when you're ready!" As soon as he was done inviting his family down, the patriarch Dursley turned his attention to his nephew. "And I'll hear not a peep out of you, today, boy. I'll be taking Dudley to my work today to have him talk to my boss---get him a job on the lower rung for the summer. You'll be doing exactly as your aunt asks, and if I hear word that you didn't..." He trailed off menacingly.
Harry didn't need to ask to know what the implied ending was. He'd heard this tone before.
As his aunt entered the room, Harry looked up. His mother's sister, indeed...
Perhaps before he let Voldie off him he'd have a go at his... 'family'.
They deserved it.
SinkingSinkingSinking
Coiled in her usual place under the rays of sunlight that entered from the large window on one wall, Nagini hissed pleasantly. Her human had recently returned to the bedchambers she shared with him, and she was pleased. Why wouldn't she be? Her human, her Tom, had seemed so pleased with himself; obviously, something had gone according to plan. Probably something to do with the Lightning-Hatchling.
"Massster isss content?" If snakes could smile, she would be. The light was so warm on her scales. It made her want to doze off on the plush black carpeting.
"Yesss, Nagini, I am content. Your eggsss are hardening well?" Oh. Those things. She supposed she should check up on them, but... she didn't really have to guard them here. None of the humans that visited the manor would dare crush snake eggs, and the other snakes that resided in the area all somewhat revered her. She guessed it was because of her human.
"They harden healthily. What makesss you happy, Massster? Have your eatersss of death pleasssed you?" Voldemort stood in silence for a moment, considering how to explain the happenings to his familiar. As intelligent as she was for a snake, it was difficult, still, to make her understand human emotions. Afterall, how could you explain to a snake that you had to kill your own species for a... cause? They had no such things. They killed for territory, to protect their young, and for food. It was just their nature to not murder.
"Yesss, they have. The young blonde hatchling will be joining me in two weeksss, along with sssome of the other hatchlingsss. But that isssn't it, dearesst. I'll be going to meet the Lightning-Hatchling come the ssun'ss next rissse." Voldemort smiled, slightly, as he lowered himself into the comfortably-cushioned mahogany chair. He could finish reading those papers later; his familiar was far more important to him.
And how beautiful she was, too! Her black scales seemed to shimmer a dark green in the warm lighting that permeated the room, and her gold-faceted slits of eyes spoke the imminent demise of anyone that threatened her. It probably didn't hurt that she was nearly eight feet in length, either.
"The Lightning-Hatchling?" Letting out an odd hiss, Nagini conveyed her distaste. "I still do not underssstand why you mussst contessst landss with him, Massster. Another ssspeaker! He isss a gift upon the world, and to kill one of your own bloodline isss to be an egg-breaker, Massster."
Despite the criticism, Voldemort smiled. They'd had this conversation before, really, so he didn't feel a need to defend his previous disposition under such scrutiny as that of Nagini's. Besides... he agreed with her.
"I am no egg-breaker, love, and I do not plan on killing the Lightning-Hatchling. In fact, I hope to bring him back with me."
"...you wish to make him your nessst-mate, Massster?"
"Perhapsss, Nagini, perhapsss."
Nagini pondered her human's responce, pleased. If the Lightning-Hatchling returned with her Master, she would not need worry over the safety of the bloodline of Snake-Speakers. Perhaps there was hope yet.
It was at this time, as fate would have it, that a knock resounded through the room, stemming from the deep mahogany of the front door to Voldemort's private rooms. Eyes narrowed in annoyment at this intrusion, but, well, he wasn't busy. He supposed he could handle company. "Enter!" He barked, stanting from his seated position. Who was it, this time? And there had better be a good reason! Not that he'd mind, ofcourse, a good Crucio, but it was an inconven--
"Severus. How pleasant to see you." Voldemort sneered. Well, this asn't as bad as he'd thought. "And what news do you bear, Severus? Dumbledore? Supplies? Has Nott still been bothering you? Come on, speak!"
"Ofcourse, m'Lord." The Potions Master replied silkily, seeking to mend the situation. Inside, though, he was fuming. Eyes remaining upon the ground in reverance, the Death Eater grimaced. "The potion you'd asked for, m'Lord. It has gone smoothly and is simmering for the next three and a half days. It will be ready then, m'Lord."
"...I see." His tone obviously held a hidden threat: Was that all that you'd come to tell me?
Snape braced himself, hoping a Crucio would not come. He just wasn't in the mood for the spasms today. "Dumbledore is suspicious, m'Lord. He is wondering why there have been less attacks."
Something to be considered, Voldemort knew. Perhaps he'd stage a raid two days from the morrow.
"If that is all, Severus, you are dismissed."
"Yes, m'Lord."
"I ssstill sssay he sssmellss." Nagini commented snidely from the side. Voldemort found himself secretly agreeing.
SinkingSinkingSinking
Albus Dumbledore was not a happy man. There had been less attacks these last few weeks, which, to the rational mind in a sane time, meant that there was a reason. Unfortunately, this was not a sane time, and they were at war. How he was expected to prepare for something he knew nothing about was completely beyond him. Severus had not been getting as much information recently. Perhaps Voldemort had lost trust in him.
Yes, that was what it was. Ofcourse. The Headmaster found himself scowling at his desk, at a loss for what to do. Harry was still with his relatives, thankfully, in a place where he was kept in tight reign. It'd just make him stronger, anyways.
Tom Riddle had been through much worse. Hadn't Harry realized that? Stupid boy.
A shrill call came from the direction of his familiar, Fawkes. It was soothing, he supposed. Something he probably needed.
Now, he had to think! Where could those Horcruxes be? He'd tracked one of them--the amulet--to a cave along the coastline. Nagini was obviously one. One seventh of his soul was in his body. The ring had been destroyed. What of Hufflepuff's cup? Where was that? That left one other. Ravenclaw's dagger, perhaps? Or could Gryffindor's brooch still be around?
All in all, it was giving him one massive headache.
A familiar voice greeted him from behind: "Oh, just rest, Dumbledore.You've done enough brooding for a life time, you know." Armando Dippet, the Headmaster from when Tom was a student and when he'd been the Transfiguration proffessor.
"You're here to help me, not question me, late Headmaster Dippet." Ironic how they had the same initials, hmm?
Now, perhaps he would focus on Hufflepuff's cup. It was possible the thing could be at tom's deceased father's hou--
"You know, we're also here to offer advice." Dippet pointed out sharply.
" 'I owe my success to having listened respectfully to the very best advice, and then going away and doing the exact opposite.' " Dumbledore intoned snidely as he stood, making his way to his personal bookcase and searching for a particular book.
"Chesterton, I know." the portrait replied. Patronizingly, he replied: "In giving advice, seek to help, not please, your friend.' "
Dumbledore paused, slightly, sighing. Stupid painting. " 'It isn't kind to cultivate a friendship just so one will have an audience.' Solon, by the way."
" 'It is possible to store the mind with a million facts and still be entirely uneducated." Dippet returned, imploringly. " 'Education is the ability to listen to almost anything without losing your temper or your self-confidence."
Dumbledore narrowed his eyes. Why did the fool of a dead man insist on still troubly him from the grave? He'd do away with that bloody portrait if it was possible. But, still. He was a Dumbledore. and Dumbledores weren't to be out-smarted in conversations of intellect. Besides, he knew more quotes.
" 'To repeat what others have said, requires education; to challenge it, requires brains.' Have a good day, Headmaster Dippet." In a flash of orange robes, dumbledore grabbed the aforementioned book and left the room.