DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN ANYTHING HARRY POTTER RELATED EXCEPT SOME MURCHANDICE, I'M AFRAID EVERYTHING ELSE BELONGS TO THE INGENIOUS J..
The Three Mysteries
Chapter 1
Scream after scream echoed down the crowded streets of Diagon Alley. All there was to hear was anguished shouts of pain, or curses being exclaimed. All their was to see were sparks flying in every direction, and the dead or injured falling to the ground in heaps, where they were then tread over, whether by defenceless witches and wizards, as they desperately tried to flea the scene, or by chunks of the once whole shops and buildings, as they burnt to a crisp.
It was Just like a scene taken out of a muggle horror movie.
Some distance away, and out of harms reach, the large emerald green eyes of Lily Potter blinked back the tears she'd been working so hard to keep from spilling. Lily knew that if she let herself cry, she wouldn't be able to stop.
At the moment she was feeling quite numb. As if every thing that was unfolding before her eyes wasn't really happening.
-Like the people she loved weren't fighting and falling.
-Like her favourite bookstore wasn't a mountain of ashes.
Lily froze in disgust at her last thought. And could no longer hold back her tears. A few metres in front of her, bodies of countless people lay, and here she was, upset about not being able to purchase a few books from her favourite store.
Lily sniffed. All this stress wasn't good for the baby. But it was tough to not be hard on herself, when their were people out there fighting for their lives, and everyone elses, while she was stuck watching from a safe distance, like an obedient child.
Lily desperately wanted to help. But she was strictly told not to.
As frustrating as it was, she couldn't help agreeing with the Order Of The Phoenix. She couldn't risk harming her unborn child, she'd never forgive herself if something were to happen to her Harry.
Oh and she was certain it was a boy, no matter what James and Remus thought. At least Sirius agreed with her. He was convinced he was destined for a godson, not a goddaughter.
(HARRY'S P.O.V)
Some world away, Harry sighed as he walked through the abandoned streets of Hogsmead. Everything was silent. It was like all the life had died out. The war was finally over, and yet most people only now found themselves facing their greatest battle yet.
The wizarding world was no longer living the fear that somebody they loved or cared about would be killed. Instead majority of them were living the reality of that fear.
There was no cause for celebration.
Voldemort was finally truly dead, but he wasn't the only one. Harry sighed again, over the past fortnight he'd been bombarded with owls, from people either thanking him for ending the war, or inviting him to a funeral.
He already had at least 30 invites.
It's not that he didn't want to pay these people their last respects. Its just, he didn't think he could bare having to say goodbye to all those people for the last time. Whether he knew them, or he didn't.
It would just make the realisation that all of those brave witches and wizards were truly gone and with it would come the guilt that this was somehow his fault for not attempting to give himself up sooner.
It would just be too overwhelming to take in all at once.
But naturally Harry was expected to attend all of the funerals. Ron and Hermione were invited to almost as much as he was, even Neville had his fare share of admirers.
At this, Harry grinned; Neville's grandmother barely spoke about anything other then her wonderful grandson anymore.
She was proud of him, and she made sure everyone knew it.
As a matter of fact she'd demanded to have an interview with the daily profit the other day. She spoke for almost three pages worth of writing about how Neville really was his parent's son, and that she couldn't have raised a better grandson.
The truth is, the daily profit only agreed to interview her because readers were only interested in the war related topics, and it's not like they could get an interview with Harry, Ron or Hermione. They just weren't ready to tell the world their full story yet, or answer the million questions that were sure to come.
But Neville had done an exclusive interview, after his grandmother had said her bit. He just told them how it felt to be hiding right under the death eaters' noses. Explained what made him charge at Voldemort, that sort of thing. Just patiently answered all the questions they threw at him.
Apparently Neville had gotten quite a bit of fan mail after that.
Well if anything, this made Ron extremely eager to do an interview as well, he'd never known what it was like to be famous. But so far it sounded pretty cool to him. He was looking forward to reading all the fan mail. He already had a lot. But an interview with the daily profit would surly mean more.
But Harry, Ron and Hermione wanted to tell their story together. So Ronald would just have to wait until they were ready.
Harry smirked to himself. Ron would soon realise that being famous wasn't all that great.
Harry looked up as a tawny owl fluttered towards him; it was unfamiliar, and fair in colour. It also looked as if it could do with a diet.
Harry hurriedly untied the parchment from the owl's leg. It was probably someone he didn't know, seeing as he didn't recognise the owl.
As Harry opened the letter he found himself hoping that he wasn't about to find out about someone else he knew dying.
Dear Harry,
You're probably wondering who could be writing this, because I assume that you don't recognise Theodore.
But I just decided that it was time for me to get an owl. It's not like I'm at Hogwarts anymore and can simply borrow one of the barn owls. And I know that I can no longer use Hedwig, for which I'm extremely sorry. However there is still Pigwidgeon, but I don't think I could stand him for too long.
Anyhow I wondered if you could meet Ron and I at the Hogs Head later this evening, we have some things I'd like to discuss, and some catching up to do.
Lots of Love Hermione.
Harry looked up. Directly in front of him was the store that Hagrid had bought Hedwig from. He knew he should probably buy a new owl, like Hermione did. But he couldn't bare the thought of replacing his forever-faithful owl, Hedwig.
(SIRIUS'S P.O.V)
Sirius Black, a young, tall, handsome man with flyaway black hair, which at the moment was in a rather filthy state. Crouched down low as a curse soared directly at him. It missed, but ruffled his hair slightly as it flew just above him.
Somewhere in the distance he heard a scream that chilled his bones. He was about to turn around to see whom the curse, which was meant for him, had hit. But then a movement ahead caught his attention.
Someone had gotten up out of the rubble and had his or her wand pointed directly at him. As they slowly edged forward Sirius could see they were masked, definitely a death eater. He raised his wand warily.
They were both prepared to attack at the slightest hint of a spell being cast by the other.
The Death Eater continued to edge forward, until he abruptly came to a stop. Then the Death Eater began to laugh. It wasn't a lighthearted sound that put you at ease. It did the opposite. It was a joyless cruel triumphant holler.
But Sirius recognised that voice anywhere, Even if it was the first time he'd heard him laugh.
"Snivellus!" Sirius snarled in disgust.
The masked figure flicked his wand, and his mask disappeared, to reveal the usual sneering face of Severus Snape.
"Black" he spat back with equal loathing. The two men took a moment to size each other up, both considering the opponent with clear distaste. And the moment was over. Much to Sirius's confusion and irritation Snape started laughing that low, cold laugh again. The git has finally lost it Sirius concluded.
"What's so funny Snivelly? Caught a glimpse of your reflection in a mirror?" Sirius taunted.
Snape's laughter immediately ceased, and his face moulded into a cold expressionless mask.
Even Sirius had to admit, albeit reluctantly that it was impressive.
Severus Snape was only 20, but he'd already mastered the art of occlumency. However with the current situation he was in at the moment, it took every ounce of his concentration not to curse Black right then and there. But No, he wanted to drag this out, he longed to cause Sirius Black the most pain he possibly could. What fun would it be if he just ended it now?
Snape leered at him but refused to be provoked, instead he drawled in a careless tone "You Know what Black? I use to consider it a pity that your parents didn't do more than burn you off the Black family tree, but how can I possibly think that now when I've been granted the privilege to kill the other half of the Potter/Black dream team, but I'm afraid it's too late to save your pathetic excuse for a companion." His tone had gradually hardened when he was talking.
Sirius was already prepared to retort when he suddenly blanched. Did he just imply that Prongs is dead? And he murdered him?
A/N Thanks for reading, reviews would be appreciated. This is my first story, should I continue with it? Do you see it going anywhere?