Author's Note: You know, sometimes life throws you a curveball so hard that it sends you reeling for a very VERY long time. What can I say....in 2007 we discovered that my sister's husband was very sick. I quit medical school and went to help take care of him. At the end of 2007 I got sick and was on bedrest for nearly six months. In 2008 my brother'n'law died, and my family was left reeling. Only now has my family really been able to get back on its feet, and I didn't consider it right to write fanfiction while my family so desperately needed my help. I am now back in school at ITT Technical Institute. After the recent issues I was turned off of medicine. :) But that's okay. Now I'm back. I apologize that it has taken this long for me to get back to my stories, but hopefully now I'll have some time to write and complete this story. Bear with me please.
I would like to say THANK YOU to those readers who came back over and over and over again and read and reviewed this story even without any recent activity. It is because of you that I am coming back to write and finish this story. If no one had expressed an interest, I would've likely abandoned it though I was enjoying writing it. Thank you all so much.
WARNING: If gore, blood, and violence bother you, reading the first half of this chapter is NOT in your best interest, as the scenes described within are quite graphic. YOU. HAVE. BEEN. WARNED!
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine, but if he was it'd be divine. I am asking, please don't sue, I've not a penny to pay you. I write because I want escape, reality's an ugly fate, so please if you would be so kind, let me write for peace of mind.
Oh, and a random note for Jemma-Jo (even though this was FOREVER AGO, I'm sorry! :-S ) - Ptah is black because he's an Egyptian asp. Most E. Asps are pitch black. Also, Niyat is not completely black. His wings are a deep midnight blue, and he has a sheen of green that coats every black feather. I haven't gotten around to exactly describing that, but Niyat isn't as dark as he seems. Besides, there are familiars I have planned in the future that aren't dark at all. These are merely the ones I had Harry start off with. ;)
Secondary note: People keep asking me if this fanfiction is going to be mostly just about Harry. The answer is NO. I plan to write chapters that don't deal with Harry at all, and focus on all kinds of relationships: friendships, romantic, sibling, and parental. All types. I hope that doesn't turn you off. This character is more of a study for me really, about who these characters would be as people, instead of just a cool, exciting, or maybe boring story about them.
Also note that I live in America, in the Central Standard Time Zone. :) I am exactly 24 hours behind Kyrgyzstan time, and about 16 hours, I believe, behind Brazillian time. I am Four - six hours behind time for the British. I think that covers my overseas readers. ;) If not, lemme know. My GMT time is GMT -6. :)
Chapter 5: Death is not the end, my friends. Death is not the end.
If there was one thing that Harry Potter hated more than Voldemort, it was rain. Rain was always present during the darkest times in his life. A cloud that hovered over his existence when things had gone wrong. In short, rain was the one enemy that he couldn't seem to get rid of. He wasn't the only one that disliked rain. Ptah wasn't fond of it either, and he made his displeasure known the moment Harry received an owl that asked for his presence at the gates. He had thought it odd, and had cast multiple spells on the letter before realizing it was just that. A letter. Dressing and bundling up, Harry had reached to snatch up his ever present companion, stopping when Ptah hissed at him. The turkey and I wissssh to sssleep, my Harry. Rainy dayssss are not our friend.
Speak for yourself you foul-tempered, old worm, came the remark from Niyat as he ruffled his feathers and swooped to land on Harry's shoulder. Be careful Harry. I sense something very wrong. Perhaps you ought to take someone with you? Maybe your Dad. It took a moment of consideration before Harry sighed and nodded. Though he was having issues with the idea that he now had parents to go to for help when he desperately needed help, he was used to doing things on his own. Still, it would go a long way towards building a relationship if he actually did ask for them to be around more. This in mind, Harry headed down the corridor, the first rays of light spilling into the castle, though it was muted by the mist of rain. Pausing to rap at the portrait edge that led to his parents room, waiting until a very fuzzy-brained James answered the door. Chuckling at the picture that so closely resembled himself in the morning, he gave his father a small smile. It took only the briefest of moments before those hazel eyes cleared, and his father was piercing him with a worried look. "Harry? What time is it?"
Harry tugged out his pocket watch and flipped it open, staring down at the hands before clicking it shut and putting it back in his pocket. "It's five minutes until six, Dad." James yawned, and it was only at that moment that Harry realized his father had had his wand trained on him, seeing the older man slip it into his pocket a moment later. "I take it this isn't a social call then," came the amused remark. "Let me get dressed. I'll meet you at the entrance?" Harry gave a nod, then turned and began his trek to the front doors, hearing James offer his wife an explanation as the picture frame slid shut once more. A smile curving his lips even as he shook his head."Well, he took that better than expected." Niyat merely trilled, the sound sounding suspiciously like a laugh, before he was settling down more heavily on Harry's shoulder, and picking at Harry's hair. Your hair is never clean.
"Bah! So say you!" came the exclamation as he laughed and swatted lightly at Niyat's beak. "Stop it. It isn't as if I have fleas," came the remark as he murmured a spell to put his hair back to rights. Niyat ruffled his feathers and managed to look smug. So say you. A remark that had Harry giving the bird a flat look. Which is what James walked in to, causing a chuckle to flit through the air. "Don't you two ever give it a rest?" Harry flashed him a grin, even as he reached out to push open the heavy, castle doors. "Never." Making his way out of the castle with his father at his side, flicking his wand from his sleeve, fingers curling around it. Taking comfort from the fact that the solid piece of wood in his hand could help to produce spells that would save his life. For the most part, magic made sense, and Harry could appreciate that. Smile gone from his face, even as he grimly approached the front gate. Two masses hang from the gate could be seen through the fog, and Harry tensed even as Niyat bristled. "Brace yourself."
James glanced over at Harry, taking in his expression, the tense line of his body and frowned. It wasn't until that moment that he realized just how intensely his son was involved with the war, and how many things he must've seen that would simply make him frown and brace himself, instead of face it in horror. As they finally broke through the mist, James could only stop in his tracks, even as Harry continued forward grimly. Despite the last war being difficult, Voldemort had held some modicum of respect for the dead - mostly. This, however, went beyond what he had seen. It was something straight out of a muggle horror film. It was detestable....it made him sick. Stomach churning, though he couldn't bring himself to look away. Shoved down over a spike in the gate was a young man, face twisted and pained. Arms spread out and spelled to clasp over neighbouring spikes. Cut in the right places to drain him of blood. Though there was no blood on the gate or below it, which meant the boy had been placed here for show. Beside him hung a pod, as if it were leaves enclosed on themselves. Suspended from a single rope, twisting against the gate slightly in the wind. The gate creaking with the weight.
"Go inside," came the quiet remark from Harry. "Get Albus. I don't want you to see this." James started to protest, but the piercing, sorrowful stare that was leveled his way had his feet moving before James could protest. Shouldn't I be the one saying those things? Before he was running toward the castle, through the corridors to gather the Headmaster. Harry was left watching him go, before he finally turned and knelt, tugging a knife from the holster attatched to his leg. Cutting down the leafy pod, before sheathing his knife. Stepping back and raising his wand, muttering an incantation which sliced open the deceptively hard shell. Water gushed from it in waves, until it was gone, trickling through the grass. Blackened by blood, staining the dirt. A strange scratching sound was heard, and suddenly Harry found himself face to face with something extremely gruesome. He'd had his fair share of dealing with Inferi, but they'd never had the face of someone he knew. There, with his features slackened in death, his jaw hanging oddly, limbs twisted at strange angles, clothes hanging in a tattered mess from his frame, was Percy Weasley.
Harry could only raise his wand, barely aware of the wand being raised behind him, before a burst of fire joined his. Forces so strongly meshed that their friend turned foe was reduced to ash in a matter of moments. Unaware that a burst of lightening had joined the mix, Niyat letting loose a cry that should've shattered his ear drums. As it was, it left his head ringing for a moment. Grimly, Harry turned slightly, seeing Albus and his father standing there. Albus tucking away his wand. "Percival Weasley...." Harry gave a slow nod, surprisingly calm despite the situation, though his green eyes told a different story. "He'd been dead for awhile.....from the looks of it. I-....I'll tell Molly--" Words breaking off when Albus stepped forward and clasped Harry's shoulders firmly. Forcing the young man to look him in the eye.
"No," came the firm comment. "I'll tell Molly. What I want you to do is go inside, and tell Madam Pomfrey to prepare a bed for Dean's body until we can get it to his family. Then I want you to gather the Weasley's." For a moment, the child in Harry wanted to protest. That he was being treated like a kid, that Albus didn't trust him to handle this, but Harry could see the truth mirrored in Albus' eyes. Albus was offering him a respite from horror - would've kept him from seeing it entirely had he been able - and wanted him to leave while he took care of things. Outside the gate, an open parchment that the pod had been hiding, fluttered in the breeze. The parchment was black, a purple ribbon fluttering from it. A message from Voldemort. Harry turned his gaze back to Albus' and gave a slow nod.
"Thank you, Albus," came the quiet remark, and then he was gone, Niyat flying from his shoulder and spiraling towards the sky, flying over Hogwarts and trilling a mournful song. Another voice lifting to join his, a dash of flame red against the gray. The sound drawing members of the Order from their rooms to look up through the windows. Knowing that someone else had died. That there were more tears to shed.
The next week felt like hell on earth for Harry. Percy's funeral had been short and brief, held at the only safe location they could think of: Hogwarts. The only thing left of the Weasley's son was a pile of ashes in an urn, which they insisted be buried at Ottery St. Catchpole. Harry was one of the Order that escorted them there. It was a sad sight to see, because there was very little mourning at Percy's funeral. The people there fueled by the hope that the Veil would see their darling Percy brought back to life. Only Harry, and those that were outside of the Weasley family wore grim faces, and pained expressions: those that had known Percy. Harry had spent his day, later, consoling a finally grieving Weasley family when Percy did not return. Harry knew before he called out those words that Percy had served his purpose in this life - his very brief life, and what that purpose was, Harry couldn't claim to know. Donning black for the remainder of the week in honor of his adoptive family. Grieving in his own way for the life they could never win back.
Feeling disheartened until the morning Molly finally popped down to see Harry, wrapping at his picture frame. Harry glanced up from his desk, the correspondance pouring in daily from his various contacts having kept him busy for most of the week. Flicking a finger at the door, he murmured, "Open." Not watching to see who the portrait revealed, until he heard a slight shuffle, and silence. Peering up after a moment, only to see Molly staring at him with wide eyes, filled to the brim with tears. Harry was on his feet in an instant, moving over to the woman and curling his arms around her. "I'm sorry," came the quiet sob. "I wanted to say thank you, for trying to bring him back and thank you for doing what we couldn't and I--" Her rambling breaking off into quiet sobbing. Harry just wrapping his arms around her and letting her cry. If there was one thing he understood it was grief. And thankfulness amid grief, though Harry felt a little guilty. He hadn't been looking for Percy, hadn't tried to save him. Percy had been a nuisance, and now he was gone. Just as dead as Dean, Sirius, Remus.....gone. He had lost his parents once, for years he'd born the grief. And even though they lived that grief survived. He was grown.....and his the hole in his childhood had not been filled. Molly had raised her son to be good and decent and kind. And he had turned away from his family, and had died alone.
And as she cried, Harry cried too, for the woman who had been his mother when his own mother could not be.
He had spent the week away from his son. Discussing with his wife a way to get to know their son, to fix the seemingly gaping hole that existed. Rubbing his hand through his short, wild black hair before rubbing along the bridge of his nose. Glasses raising as the rested on his finger, bobbing in time with the movement. "Harry doesn't hate us," came the quiet response from across the room, as if his wife had been reading his mind. "He just doesn't know us, and at his age, it would seem like an impossible task to me too." James frowned, settling his glasses back on his face, scuffing at the floor with a toe as he sat atop the heavy mahogany table in their room. "I know that. But knowing it doesn't make it any easier. I mean, his whole life is this fantastical but sorrowful tale. And partly because we weren't there. Because at the last moment, we doubted the best man for the job, Lily. How do we get past that mistake?"
Frustration rising in him, though it paused momentarily when Lily moved to sit on the table beside him, arms sliding around him. "Sweetheart, fixing things, especially relationships is never easy. But this is our son, and we have to try. Besides, there's nothing there to fix. We have to build." James stared down at his feet before giving a slow nod, a soft sigh leaving his lips. "Right. Building. I can do that." His only response was a chuckle, and though it didn't solve the issue, James felt hope. If only for a brief time.
Okay so I know this chapter sucked. Bear with me. It's hard to write when you've stopped writing for almost four years. Hopefully, I'll get back into the swing of things. Thanks guys. Please leave a review. And I need ideas guys of what you hope to see in this story! I have a few things planned but I could use some help. Thank you so much!