Chapter 15

The Dark Lord Rises

[A/N: How do I choose the colour of someone's magic? I have no idea. The colour of a person simply presents itself the first time you meet them; I just assign that to their magic in this story. Mild synaesthesia.]

[A/N - 2: Dumbledore may be manipulative, but he isn't a bad guy. In his own words, since he's cleverer than most people, his mistakes tend to be bigger. And, for all his faults, he does love Harry. I suppose that's why Victoria finally gave in and allowed him to add feathers to her. He's one of the most powerful wizards around, after all, and Victoria is a warrior, after all. She'd use all the resources she can to win the war for her wizard.]

[A/N - 3: A thousand apologies for the delay. Real life intervened…and rather painfully, at that. I'll try and keep it more regular now that I'm back.]

Ron Weasley was startled from his sleep by an awful noise. Realising what it was, he jumped out of bed and ran to his best friend's.

"Harry! Wake up!" Ron grabbed Harry's shoulders and shook him.

Harry keened pitifully, but didn't wake up. Ron put a hand on his forehead. Harry was burning up…and his scar was bleeding. His phoenix appeared and cried over him, but even her tears had no effect.

"Victoria!" Ron cried. "Get Sirius! I'm taking him to the hospital wing!"

The phoenix disappeared. Ron quickly cast a feather-weight charm and picked up Harry in his arms.

"Graveyard…" Harry muttered. "Riddle…Little Hangleton…"

Ron ran as fast as he could.

Sherlock went limp in his captor's arms. That gave John the opening he needed to shoot the despicable man – non-fatally, of course.

As the mafia boss clutched his shoulder and howled, his underlings fell apart like dominoes. Greg barged in and the criminals were secured.

"Don't go running off by yourself, I said," the Detective Inspector scolded. "John, I expected at least you to have more sense!"

"Sorry, Greg," John said cheerfully. "You know how he is. But we'll try and listen to you in the future. Right, Sherlock?"

The Consulting Detective didn't move from where the mafia guy had dropped him. John and Greg knelt on the ground, concerned.

"Sherlock?" John called, shaking him gently. "Are you all right?"

Sherlock's eyes snapped open, blazing silver. "Harry…" he whispered. John glimpsed a swarm of glowing bees appear and fly away.

John and Greg pulled him to his feet.

"We have to go to Harry," Sherlock said. "George, inform my brother."

"It's Greg," Lestrade replied automatically and watched the two madmen run off into the night. He sighed and pulled out his phone.

"Good evening, Detective Inspector," Mycroft Holmes' drawl was the same as ever. "How may I help you?"

"Sherlock said to tell you that he's gone to Harry."

Mycroft drew a sharp breath. "What happened?" he asked solicitously.

Greg told him the little he knew as quickly as he could. After all, a policeman couldn't make the British Government wait, could he?

Sirius and Remus appeared in the Hospital Wing almost immediately after Ron and Harry. Sherlock's bees buzzed around Harry, but for once, Harry would neither calm down nor awaken from his apparent nightmare. Madam Pomfrey pored over him, flicking her wand occasionally.

"What's wrong with him?" Sirius asked.

The school nurse frowned, but before she could answer, Sherlock and John burst into the room.

Sherlock rushed to the bed and picked up Harry in his arms. "Get out, all of you," he snapped. "John, keep everyone out except my brothers."

Madam Pomfrey and Sirius opened their mouths to argue, but a quelling look from John silenced them. Sherlock held Harry close, his eyes flashing silver. A soft glow engulfed them. John silently ushered everyone towards the door.

"Get Snape to brew his special Cruciatus Pain Relief Potion," Sherlock called behind their retreating backs.

"I'll go to Severus," Remus offered. John nodded and the werewolf left.

"How did you get here so fast?" Ron asked John. "It's only been a few minutes, and Hermione says you can't Apparate into Hogwarts."

John shrugged. "Secret Holmesian magic, I suppose."

"Or a father's love," came Dumbledore's soft voice. "Mr Holmes seems to have broken through the school wards to get to Harry." He frowned. "This should not be happening – Mycroft assured me that Lord Voldemort's soul fragment had been exorcised from Harry."

"It was," John told him. "It most definitely was."

Dumbledore sighed sadly. "Then it appears that the prophecy binds them in ways I cannot fathom."

Mycroft and Emrys Apparated in front of them.

"Why are you not repairing the wards, Albus?" Mycroft demanded. "Get Minerva, Pomona, Severus and Filius and put them back up right now."

"Sherlock asked Severus to brew his Cruciatus potion," Sirius said mildly.

"Never mind the potion; I'll take care of it," Emrys said urgently. He looked up at the ceiling and called, "Fawkes!"

Dumbledore's phoenix arrived immediately.

"Get the Heads," Emrys told the bird. "Immediately."

Dumbledore stared at the Holmes brothers.

"The wards take priority, Albus; I cannot hold it alone for much longer, and we need Emrys for Sherlock and Harry," Mycroft said quietly. "Lord Voldemort has been revived with your blood instead of Harry's, and I am afraid we were too late to stop the process."

Fawkes appeared with Professors McGonagall, Snape, Sprout and Flitwick. The Potions Master clutched a vial to his chest. He thrust the vial at Emrys and muttered, "Cruciatus."

"Repair the wards," Emrys commanded. He placed a hand on Mycroft's shoulder. "You can let go now."

Dumbledore nodded at Mycroft and raised his wand. Emrys blinked at the sight of the wand, but did not comment. The four Heads joined the Headmaster.

Mycroft staggered a little, but Emrys held him up.

"Go in," John said. "Sherlock said to let you two in and no one else."

The Holmes brothers nodded solemnly and opened the doors. John turned to Sirius. "Perhaps you should take Ron to Gryffindor tower and update Remus."

Sirius nodded and led Ron away. John sighed and leaned against the cold stone wall, wishing there was something he could do. He watched the five teachers hard at work, each of them paling rapidly at the massive amount of magical energy being spent in repairing the wards, and wondered once again how powerful the Holmes brothers were. Mycroft had Apparated in and held it aloft all by himself, barely breaking a sweat.

Sherlock looked up as his brothers entered the room. He held Harry close and both were enveloped in a silvery glow. Harry's cries had reduced to whimpers by now. Victoria, who had been perched on Sherlock's shoulder, immediately flew to them and landed on Mycroft's shoulder. She bit his ear and cried.

Emrys strode to the bed and poured half the vial of Severus' potion down the boy's throat, then turned to Sherlock and did the same.

Sherlock spluttered.

"Voldemort is back," Mycroft said quietly.

Sherlock sighed. "I thought as much. Are they repairing the wards? I am sorry I broke through, but…"

"No one is blaming you, Sherlock," Mycroft said softly. "Your child was in pain and perhaps in mortal danger – you did what any parent would." He pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down, while Emrys wove a net of golden light around Sherlock and Harry.

"Was Harry a witness to the ritual?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock nodded miserably. "I do not know the details, but he was in so much pain that I…" He hugged the boy tighter. "What do I do Mycroft?" he cried plaintively.

Mycroft, disconcerted at the self-proclaimed sociopath's emotional outburst, moved to the bed and put an arm around his brother's thin shoulders.

"We will get through this," he promised firmly. "I give you my word, little brother."

Sherlock rested his head on Mycroft's shoulder and closed his eyes. Emrys and Mycroft exchanged a concerned look.

Mycroft raised his hand and brilliant blue joined Emrys' gold and Sherlock's silver. Harry's emerald green suddenly burst into life with a blinding flash.

"You idiot!" Emrys shouted. "I told you not to!"

Mycroft smiled tiredly. "It worked, did it not, baby brother? Harry is waking up."

Harry stirred and opened his eyes. Then blinked rapidly.

"Father? Uncle Mycroft? Uncle Emrys? What's going on? Why are you here?"

"What do you remember, Harry?" Emrys asked softly, claiming a spot on the bed as well.

Harry frowned. "Hermione, Ron and I were up late working on some assignments…then we went to bed as usual." His eyes widened in horror. "I saw…"

Mycroft nodded grimly. "Voldemort is back."

"But we do need the details from you," Emrys said softly. "Have you ever heard of a pensieve, Harry?"

Harry shook his head and watched eagerly as Emrys summoned one. He showed the boy how to draw a memory from his mind and put it in. Then all four of them entered the bowl.

XXX

By the time the Holmes emerged from the pensieve, the warding had been completed, and Madam Pomfrey and John were tending to the Headmaster and the Four Heads, who were magically exhausted.

Harry trembled, and Sherlock immediately pulled him closer. The detective had not spoken a word or let go of Harry since the boy had woken up.

John came over to them and transfigured a couple of hospital beds into cozy couches. Once they were seated, he made all of them drink Pepper-Up potions.

"Thank you, John," Mycroft said finally.

"How bad was it?" John asked quietly. "What do you need?"

"Bad enough that we need to teach Harry to shield his mind," Emrys muttered. "Mycroft and I need to go to the Ministry right away, John. Could you take care of Sherlock and Harry for us? It would be best if the three of you returned to Baker Street for a couple of days. Victoria can take you – can't you?" he directed the last part to the phoenix, who bobbed her head.

Mycroft went over to the teachers and spoke quietly to Dumbledore for a few minutes. John and Emrys shot him a worried look when he returned.

"Come on, Sherlock, Harry. Time to go home," John said as cheerfully as he could.

Harry gave them a watery smile. Sherlock simply stood up mechanically, but did not let go of Harry's arm. Mycroft sighed and pulled Sherlock into a protective hug. "Let go, Sherlock," he said softly. "Emrys and I will help you put up a joint shield in Harry's mind until he learns Occlumency. You can let go now, little brother."

Sherlock nodded weakly and released Harry. Mycroft and Emrys patted their nephew's head, and Harry felt a warm feeling envelope him.

Emrys hugged Sherlock and Harry. "Go home and rest, you two. Don't trouble John too much."

Harry smiled at him.

"We shall come by later," Mycroft promised. "Let me know if there is anything you need."

Victoria trilled from John's shoulder. The doctor grabbed his detective and the young wizard. They disappeared in a flash of gold-green.

"Mind palace," Sherlock snapped as soon as they appeared in 221B, and disappeared into his bedroom.

John took one look at Harry's face, dragged him to the kitchen and made him a large mug of hot chocolate.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled miserably.

John ruffled his hair affectionately. "Don't worry about it, son. Sherlock's off his rocker at the best of times, and he doesn't do well when people he loves are in danger. He was spooked when you were in pain and he couldn't make it go away. He's not used to feeling helpless; makes him mad."

Harry nodded silently, not really convinced. John's mind recalled the Magnussen affair but he rapidly shoved it down – now was not the time for him to brood over past mistakes.

"Would you like to sleep? I'll give you a Dreamless Sleep potion if you want," John offered.

Harry shook his head.

John frowned. "If you're worried about visions, don't be. You have a tri-Holmes shield in your head now. A thousand Voldemorts won't get through, trust me."

"What's Occlumency?" Harry asked, ignoring the response.

"It's a method to resist Legilimency – that's other people invading your mind and seeing your thoughts and memories. Really skilled Legilimens can even generate false memories and scenes."

Harry looked horrified. "So, Voldemort has been reading my mind all this time?"

"I don't think that's likely," John said calmly. "Sherlock reacts rather violently when someone tries to invade your mind – remember how he threw off Snape and Dumbledore? He probably feels it through your bond."

"I'm too much trouble," Harry whispered. "He must regret taking me in. I should have never let him…"

John smacked him lightly on the arm. "What a load of crap. Thought you were smarter, Harry."

Harry refused to look at him.

John sighed. "Look, son, Sherlock adores you. Never doubt that. The bloke broke through the school wards to get to you. And don't doubt his power, either. Besides, there's Mycroft and Emrys." He grinned. "I actually feel sorry for the poor Dark Lord. He won't know what hit him."

Harry gave the doctor a tentative smile.

"How about we treat ourselves to some feel-good snacks?" John asked.

Harry nodded.

John stood up. "Ah, yes, that reminds me - we should probably feed Sherlock as well. It's been almost three days since he ate."

Harry stared at John as he pulled out ingredients for a simple pasta from the fridge, then rushed to help him. The two of them cooked in comfortable silence, and soon enough, armed with a tray, they walked into Sherlock's room.

Uncharacteristically, Sherlock was curled up on his bed.

John sighed. "He finally fell asleep…I don't really want to wake him up, but…"

Sherlock whimpered in his sleep. John frowned and put down the tray.

"Sherlock?" he called softly. There was no response.

"Uncle John? What's wrong?" Harry asked.

"I'm not sure," John replied. "Step back, Harry. I'm going to run a diagnostic spell."

Glowing red runes appeared in the air above Sherlock and John swore. He turned to Harry. "Are you in any pain?" he asked, eyeing him carefully.

Harry shook his head.

"Not even a twinge?"

Harry shook his head again.

John looked ready to explode. He grabbed the detective's shoulders and shook him roughly.

Sherlock opened his eyes blearily.

"Sherlock, you idiot! Why didn't you say something?" John yelled.

Sherlock blinked sleepily. "…John?"

"How many?" John demanded.

Sherlock simply looked confused.

"How many rounds of Cruciatus did you absorb?" John snapped.

Harry gasped behind him.

"I don't know," Sherlock said slowly. "Twelve…maybe fifteen. Victoria helped, she shed a lot of tears. And Emrys gave us Snape's potion."

John cursed again. "Despite that, you are still under the influence. I don't have Snape's potion – but I do have a couple of emergency battlefield spells that will keep you right until we get more of that potion. Why didn't you tell me you were in pain, you git?"

A ghost of smile crossed Sherlock's lips. "I am known to be indestructible, John."

John resisted the urge to strangle him and quickly performed his spells. Immediately, Sherlock felt a lot better. He smiled at his doctor. "Thank you, John."

"Next time, tell me before you collapse, bastard."

Sherlock grinned. "Really, John, must you use such coarse language? What will our children learn?"

John couldn't help his smile. He turned to Harry. "Sorry, son – just forget what I've been saying for the last fifteen minutes, yeah? And not a word to Emma Rose."

Harry, however, was in no mood for mirth. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his face pale and eyes dull. "It's all my fault. I should have…" He slid down the wall and curled up on the floor, sobbing.

Sherlock and John were by his side in a flash.

"Of course it's not your fault, child," Sherlock said quietly.

Harry shook his head. "You suffered so much pain because I was too weak to hold it off or bear it. I'm useless," he said miserably. "I can't do anything right. Uncle Vernon was right – I'm a freak and I can only bring misfortune to those around me."

Sherlock pursed his lips and John balled his hands into fists.

"I very much doubt Mr Dursley has been right about anything in his life, nephew mine," came Mycroft's cool drawl from the door. "And I can assure you that he was most certainly wrong about you." He turned to John. "John, if you would, could you take Harry and set the table for six? I would like a word with my brother, and Emrys shall arrive in a few minutes with Arthur – and the potion Sherlock needs…and we could all do with some nutrition."

John gaped at him. "You knew?"

Mycroft nodded curtly. He was saved from John's wrath by the doorbell. It was one of Mycroft's nameless minions with a lot of food. John and Harry busied themselves in the kitchen.

Sherlock glared at his brother. Mycroft sighed.

"Really, little brother," the British Government said. "Did you honestly think I would not know? Do you not sense Harry's distress through his magic?"

Sherlock scowled. "I'm fine," he said stubbornly.

Mycroft sighed again. "There is no need for you to be a martyr, little brother," he said, with exaggerated patience. "We are perfectly capable of ridding ourselves of a semi-human Dark Lord."

"What have you found out?" Sherlock snapped.

"He is in hiding. Emrys will scry him later, but we should let him be for now. It will be some time before he regains his strength, and his generous use of the Cruciatus immediately after reincarnation must have been draining. I do not think he will create an uproar until the Quidditch World Cup. We have a few months to prepare ourselves."

"And what of Jim?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft smiled dangerously. "Voldemort did attempt to withdraw his magic, but he was unsuccessful. Jim Moriarty lives on as long as we think he may be of some use."

Sherlock smiled as well – his not-nice smile. "Jim may be useful. How are you keeping him under control?"

"I simply give him what he wants," Mycroft said wryly.

Curiosity beset Sherlock. "What does he want? I thought he just wanted my attention."

"Indeed, brother mine."

Sherlock blinked. "Polyjuice?"

Mycroft smirked. "I don't need Polyjuice to be my brother, Sherlock."

Sherlock laughed. "Lucky Jim, getting personal attention from the British Government every day."

"I aim to please," Mycroft shot back. He cocked his head to the side. "I believe Emrys and Arthur have arrived. Time for the War Council, little brother."

Mycroft held out his hand and Sherlock took it reluctantly, knowing he was not as steady on his feet at moment as he would like.

"Big brother to the rescue once again," the detective muttered under his breath, drawing a sigh from Mycroft.

[A/N - 4: Voldemort's revival is pretty much the same as in Goblet of Fire except that Wormtail uses Dumbledore's blood instead of Harry's, and there isn't a Harry Potter tied to a gravestone – so I haven't bothered to write it out again.]

[A/N - 5: If there is a lot of anime and manga influence on this fic in the near future, it can be blamed on my current obsession with the supernatural Shounen Ai genre. I found some brilliant works in this category recently. Can't wait to see Akihabara; I've just booked my tickets to Japan, though there's a lot of time before the trip.]