Note: Anyone willing and able to draw a cover image for this story? I'll give you a digital cookie! I've received another request to slow the hell down in my story pacing. I think I've figured out why I look like I move faster. There's not a whole of subplots going on. And I like that, so I'm going to keep it that way. Going into more detail, though, that I'm all in favor for. So I'll see what I can do.
Onward and...well, onward.
CHAPTER SEVEN: GHOSTS OF MEN, II
Even though the Dementors weren't allowed on the school grounds, their presence was still felt. People tended to travel in groups, huddled together for warmth. Professors were on edge, taking points for minor infractions yet oddly lenient on homework. The news of the breakout had put a damper on everyone's mood. The presence of the Dementors had driven the notorious Hogwarts rumor mill into high gear, and speculation was rife about why they were there and who they were protecting.
Predictably, and unfortunately for Harry, they didn't look very far beyond him. It had been bad at the end of last year. People had been wary of approaching him, or talking directly to him. Over the summer the story of what he'd done had grown into a legend. One I want no part of, he thought, pushing his way through the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
He'd been looking forward to this class. And also dreading it somewhat. To say he'd had bad experiences with Defense teachers was putting it somewhat mildly. Still, the look of the classroom gave him a little hope.
Each professor's personality leaked into the rooms they taught in. McGonagall's class was neat, orderly, efficient. Spartan, like the woman herself. Flitwick's room was full of knicknacks and old dueling trophies. Snape's was dark and dank and quiet. Someone first entering a Hogwarts class could get a good idea of who the teacher was just by looking around. And the way the room was set up told Harry that maybe, just maybe, this one finally knew what he was on about.
Cages lined the walls, some empty, and some occupied by some manner of fantastic beast. A large tank sat at the back of the classroom, and a spindly looking angry creature was pressing its face against the glass. There was a projector at the back and shelves of books interspersed the cages.
"Morning." Neville dropped into the seat next to Harry before yawning. "Se-seen Hermione?"
"Nope." Harry shook his head. "Why, you need her for something?"
"No. Just wondering."
"Uh-huh."
"I was!"
"Okay."
"Harry..." Neville dropped his face into his palms. Harry laughed and shoved his friend's shoulder.
Before he could say anything, the girl in question entered the class and took the remaining seat on Harry's other side. "Good morning boys." she said brightly, folding down the page of the book she'd been reading and returning it to her bag. "Looking forward to the class?"
"More or less." Neville replied. "I want to know one way or the other if this guy's a duffer or not."
"And with that ringing endorsement," a wry, smooth voice said, "let's get started."
Neville turned an interesting shade of green, and Harry turned to see who he'd inadvertently insulted.
The speaker was a worn looking man. The sort of person who engaged in a deeply wearying task on a regular basis regardless of whether they wanted to or not. A series of parallel scars went from the man's left ear, across his nose, and to the bottom of his right jaw. They reminded Harry of a similar set across his chest. Light brown eyes, almost yellow, and a lupine set of features made the overall resemblance to an old wolf very strong.
"Good morning, class." the man continued, grinning at Neville for a moment. "My name is Remus Lupin and, by the end of class today, I hope to have convinced you that I am not, in fact," his grin grew. "a duffer of any sort."
Harry's hopes rose. His first instinct, the one that hit him about people, said that Lupin knew what he was on about. He took out a fresh sheet of parchment for notes, a small smile on his face. For the first time in two years, he looked forward to the day's lesson.
"Right," said Lupin, flicking his wand at the projector. "I had intended for our first lesson to cover something boring and mundane like pixies." a collective groan went up from the class. Neville's eye twitched. Lupin laughed. "But as I understand it, you lot have an impressive knowledge of those beasties already. No, instead I thought to myself, 'Lupin old boy, there's a lesson already here. At Hogwarts!' 'Really?' I say to myself, 'what would that be?'"
He paced behind his desk and placed his palms flat on its surface. The projector creaked and slotted a slide. A familiar picture appeared on screen and Harry couldn't help the shiver that went down his spine at the sight. A red eyed wolf shadow snarled at them all. "Dementors," Lupin said, all traces of his former good humor gone. "the bane of all good feeling. Who can tell me anything about them?"
To no one's surprise, Hermione's hand was the first in the air. Harry elbowed her. She flushed and started to lower her hand, but Lupin already called on her.
"Ah, well. Tell us what you know, Ms..."
"Granger, Professor Lupin."
"Well, then, Ms. Granger. When you're ready, astound us."
"Shouldn't have said that." Neville muttered to Harry, who snickered. Hermione shot them a glare, then started to speak.
"Dementors are the creation of the warlock Aldrick Az Khaban in the eleventh century. The exact method for their creation is lost-" Harry jumped as if poked. Dumbledore knew! "-but the general agreement is that they are the combination of a dark spirit and the body of a wolf."
"Very good, Ms. Granger. Take five points. No, better make it ten. And a half. Let's hear from someone else, shall we? Nobody else wanted to know about the monsters at their door? Well. Makes me wonder about your self preservation instincts, but that's neither here nor there. I'll take over, shall I?"
Lupin moved to lean against his desk and folded sinewy arms. He frowned at his sternum for a moment before looking up.
"Ms. Granger is quite correct. How the Dementors came to be is forgotten, and thankfully, they cannot breed. What they are is nothing more than the sum total of everything awful about humanity. Violence, fear, anger, dread, all wrapped in the guise of a wolf and topped with a lethally venomous bite for which there is no known cure.
"I did not intend for today's lesson to become a warning about Dementors, but listen: they are some of the most vile beings in creation. I don't know what the Minister was thinking, letting them leave Azkaban. They will kill you, if they find you. They respect only one thing, and I'm sorry to say that none of you are it.
"Well, that's probably enough doom and gloom. Okay...let's see. Homework, yes! Don't groan at me, it's my job. How about six inches of parchment about the various attributes and characteristics of Dementors? Due by next class. That'll be all. Run along."
"Well, that was..." Neville searched for the word as they waded through the press of students towards their next class; Herbology. "I got nothing."
"Professor Lupin strikes me as a weird man, honestly," Hermione dodged a first year. "but he's certainly knowledgeable."
"He knows his stuff, I'll grant you that." Harry said. "But he missed something."
"He did?" she frowned. "What'd he miss?"
"Well, two things:" Harry held up two fingers. "First, Dumbledore knows how they're made. He said so, anyway. Second, they're attracted to power. The more you have, the bigger yen for you they get."
Hermione caught his implication faster than Neville, and gasped. "Wait, that means-"
"Yep. I am the most popular item on the Dementor menu. Well, it could be worse."
"How?" Neville and Hermione chorused. Harry shrugged.
"Professor Teeth could be teaching again."
Neville shrugged, then grinned. "Fair enough. Though, seriously, Harry, what are you going to do?"
"Be very, very careful." Harry answered. "I have no desire to spend any time in hospital this year."
"We'll help if we can, mate." Neville clapped him on the shoulder. Hermione nodded. He smiled gratefully.
"Thanks, guys."
Harry wondered if, up in the cosmos, there was a Fate or a Luck who had it in for him. It was the only explanation that made sense for his continued ill fortune.
It was either that, he thought, bending his head against the lashing rain. Or Luna was right, and there is a conspiracy to control the weather. Privately, he hoped she was right. If she was, he might have a chance at some good luck every now and again.
"Come on, Harry, we're going to miss the game!" Neville shouted over the wind. Harry glared at him.
"Explain why that's a bad thing!" he shouted back, and tried to keep the needle sharp rain from turning his face into a pincushion.
"Oh, for the love of- are you a wizard, or not?" Hermione pulled out her wand and pointed it at his face. "Impervius!"
That was better. The rain just sort of...sheeted off him now, like water off a duck. It wasn't exactly pleasant. But it was much better than the alternative. He'd have preferred to avoid the whole choice in the first place and stay in, but that was apparently not in the cards. Instead, he was going to watch Hufflepuff thrash Ravenclaw in a Quidditch match. Having only a passing interest in the sport despite a not-inconsiderable amount of skill on the broom, he didn't really know why he was there.
Not true. He knew exactly why he was there, and he hoped Neville appreciated it. He was pretty sure there were better ways to spend time with Hermione, but he wasn't the mastermind behind this. So instead, he suffered in silence.
"I really hate this!"
Mostly.
On the plus side, the match sure looked to be interesting. Anyone trying to fly in this wind would be very entertaining to watch.
Harry was right, the match was very interesting. It was by far the most injury laden he'd ever seen. Within the first five minutes there were three time-outs called for injuries sustained. With the cloud cover, rain, and wind, none of the players could see much of anything. So that meant a lot of people were being concussed by Bludgers. He shuddered a little at the thought. Or the rain seeping through his collar. Who would want to play a sport in which a cannonball tried to kill them?
And to make matters worse, Hermione's spell had worn off. His face was now back to being sandblasted by water. He grumbled to himself and scrunched deeper into his cloak. He suffered a couple of goals and many minutes of this before he cursed himself for a blithering idiot and smacked his forehead.
"Ow." he muttered. Then he drew power into his hand, turned his fist up to the sky, and opened his fingers. A shield of amber light shimmered into life around him, then faded from view at a thought from Harry. He sighed in satisfaction and took great pleasure in the envious looks his peers were shooting him.
Thus protected, he was able to enjoy the mayhem above. At least, until an unwelcome feeling of icy dread crept fingers into his heart. He could see his breath misting in front of him and the rain change to a slurry of water and ice that pinged off his shield. His heart pounded and his fists clenched. He knew what was causing this.
People started screaming.
The Dementors had entered the grounds. And they were there for him. He ground his teeth and drew power into himself. They were coming.
He was ready.
In a hateful tide, the Dementors flowed onto the pitch. Walls were no obstacle, nor was the slick wood of the stands. They fell on the bodies of his peers, of his teachers, tearing with fangs dripping with venom. Half of the group went one way, half the other. They spread out in a pincer across the stands, biting and tearing anyone in their way.
He saw the destination of half of the pincer. The old wizard looked like the beacon atop a lighthouse. Wreathed in flames, wand swooping like a conductor's baton, Albus Dumbledore went to war. Walls of brilliant red flame sheeted off him in waves, burning the Dementors to ash or driving them away. Wherever he directed his wrath, the monsters fled or they died.
The sound of their feet on wood turned his attention back to the ones who had come for him. He didn't hear the screams of the people around him. He barely saw Neville tackle Hermione off the benches onto the ground and cover her with his body. His vision filled with their shapes, their dread curled around his heart.
Harry turned, stepped onto the banister, and fell.
Wind howled past him. Rain lashed him. He fought the urge to close his eyes. Seconds passed in an eternity. Above him he could hear the sounds of the Dementors hurling themselves after him. The ground rushed up at him, faster than he could have thought. Instinct directed his gathered power to his legs.
When he landed, the impact drove him to his knees. The force of his landing cratered the muddy earth in a three foot circle around him. He stood, looked up, and started running. His only thought was to draw them away. Away from his friends. Away from the people they could hurt. He was so focused he did not feel his speed until he turned to see how close behind him they were.
His jaw dropped when he saw they were yards behind him.
Again he gathered power and again he let instinct guide him. He ignored the twinge of nausea and the pain on his face and knelt, placing his palms into the muddy ground. He took a deep breath, let it out, and hissed, "Break."
When he woke up in hospital, he knew the Dementors had failed. He was still alive. Aching, tired, thirsty. Scared. But alive. Harry breathed deep, letting the sensations of others' magic wash over him. He could hear people talking. Snatches of conversation drifted to him over the bustle of the busy hall.
"...never seen magic like that before."
"All that fire! It washed over me, and didn't hurt me!"
"Did you see Potter? What he did to the pitch?"
What had he done to the pitch? He had a good idea, but he wasn't sure. Acting entirely on instinct had left him passing out without knowing what effect his power would have.
"He always saves us. What will happen when he needs saving?"
A quiet, familiar voice. Slightly rougher now, thanks to a scar on her throat. He felt cool hands envelope one of his own and became aware of someone on either side of him, and at the foot of his bed.
There was a sniffle to his left and Hermione's thick voice said, "Do you think he'll wake up soon?"
"Yeah." Neville's voice was forced calm at Harry's feet, trying to reassure his worried friend. "He's tough, and he's used more magic than that before. Few hours, he'll be right as rain."
"Physically, yes." Luna's voice to his right. "I'm scared for him, though."
"Why?" Hermione asked. Luna's answer was unheard. Harry's eyes chose that moment to function again, and he finally truly woke up. The familiar sight of the hospital wing's ceiling greeted his newly woken eyes.
"Harry?" Silver eyes and a pretty face replaced the ceiling. He much preferred this view. She smiled at him. "How are you feeling?"
His brain must have been a little asleep, still, because his answer was, "I really hate this place."
"I do believe the school may not survive your time here."
"Sorry, sir."
"Don't be. It's no fault of yours that you defend yourself. Our budget disagrees, but to hell with it."
Harry smiled. "Okay, sir."
Dumbledore returned his smile, and placed his hands palm down on his desk. "Now, I imagine you're wondering why you're here, destruction of my Quidditch pitch aside."
Harry winced. "Yes, sir. Is it completely destroyed?"
"Quite. I believe the current plan is to turn it into a second lake for Care of Magical Creatures. Now, onto more serious matters." Dumbledore assumed what Harry though of as his default pose: leaning back in his seat, hands steepled, thoughtful frown firmly in place. "The Dementor's attack today had a twofold purpose. The first, rather obviously, was you and-forgive my moment of egotism- me."
"Why us, sir?"
"Have you forgotten already, Harry?" Dumbledore chided gently. "I told you when I visited your home that Dementors are drawn to power. It just so happens that you and I were the most magically powerful people there."
"Right. Sorry." Harry turned red and scratched his head. He had known that. With all that had happened earlier that particular piece of information had sunk to the depths of his mind to be recalled at a later time. Namely, now. "What's the second reason?"
"Far more sinister, I'm afraid. I'm sure you received a letter from the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"
"I did. Did everyone get one?"
"Indeed they did. I still have mine, somewhere." Dumbledore gestured to the expanse of papers on his desk. "At any rate, one of those individuals, possibly more, orchestrated the attack today in order to sneak into the school to accomplish a goal. Can you guess the purpose of that goal, knowing what you do about them?"
"I don't know anything about them, sir." Harry protested, shrugging. He wondered why Dumbledore was asking this. He was starting to see that the old wizard never did anything without a reason.
"Guess." Dumbledore challenged. "Use that keen mind."
"Okay, uh..." he trailed off and thought hard. Azkaban was guarded by Dementors. They were nasty, nasty things. It stood to reason that the people they guarded were just as nasty. And the only people nasty enough to end up there in the last decade all worked for... "Voldemort. It's him again, isn't it?"
"Isn't it always." was the enigmatic reply. "Well reasoned, Harry. The purpose of the attack and its subsequent break-in had but one purpose: you."
"Me?"
"Yes. You. You destroyed their master. In their minds, quite deranged from more than a decade at the tender mercies of the Dementors, your state of living is the only thing keeping their master from returning to life."
A long silence reigned in the office. "That's-" Harry couldn't find the words. He was stunned. Floored. "That's-that's complete bollocks. Sir."
Harry was treated to a rare sight then; Dumbledore's laughter. He threw back his head, dislodging the old pointed hat, and laughed. He was still smiling when he replied, "I don't think I could have put it better, Harry. The idea has some merit, granted, but none of those men or women possess the knowledge or sanity to do so."
"So I shouldn't be worried?" Harry asked hopefully.
"No. You should." Dumbledore had no trace of a smile on his face now. "There are few things more dangerous or unpredictable than the mind of a madman. They think in curves where we do in lines. Solutions to problems we do not know exist are obvious to them. Their insanity means they don't know the meaning of the word 'impossible'. They will do anything, try anything. And they will never give up."
"Thanks, sir." It was bitter of Harry, he'd be the first to admit. But sometimes it felt like he had too much to carry and not enough strength. Dumbledore sighed.
"I don't mean to add to your burden, my boy, but you must be careful. You are strong and brave and smart and very, very capable. There is no doubt in my mind that you have strength enough to face anything this world has to offer you."
There was no trace of bitterness in Harry's reply of "Thanks, sir."
"Good luck, Harry, and good evening. The events of the last day have left much on plate."
"Of course, sir. Good evening."
If nothing else, Dumbledore had given him a hell of a lot to think about.
In the weeks after the Dementor attack there was little else the school would talk about. The only other subject capable of holding anyone's attention was Harry. This annoyed him to no end, and also was somewhat gratifying. Yes, it was bothersome when he was late to class because people kept asking him what it felt like to fight Dementors. But it also felt good to be acknowledged for something he'd done, instead of something he'd been there for.
It was entirely his, and he took pride in it.
Unfortunately, little else good came from that day. Seventeen students and one professor lost their lives to the Dementors. Hagrid, whom Harry had tea with a few weekends a month, took over the Care of Magical Creatures position when Kieran Kettleburn died protecting the students near him. This knowledge, knowing that despite all his power people had still died, kept his ego firmly in check. He hadn't known any of the people who'd died. He still felt their absence.
It seemed like the castle itself was mourning her lost students.
Harry wanted to blame himself. If he was just faster, or stronger, or smarter, or something, then maybe they'd still be alive. A part of him-what he liked to think of as his grown-up self- knew it wasn't his fault. The rest took the blame and put it squarely where he thought it belonged: his shoulders.
He sat and looked pensively into the common room fire. The comfy armchair had long been accepted by his housemates as his, and it was in this that he parked himself. He dug through his bag and found his Charms text. Homework would serve to distract him. Nothing focused his mind like finding things to do besides it.
An hour's procrastination later found him with a half-written Charms essay and company. Neville had taken the other armchair next to him and was turning his wand over in his hands. "This was my dad's you know." he said suddenly.
"It was?" Harry set aside the homework. "But, that weird bloke I talked to in the wand shop said-"
"Yes, 'the wand chooses the wizard'." Neville did a decent impersonation of the wand seller. "Guess I was enough like my dad that it picked me. I dunno. What's bothering you?"
"Eh?" Harry blinked. "Something's bothering me?"
Neville scoffed. "Harry, I know you. We've been friends for close to three years. I know when something's bugging you. So. What is it?"
He sighed deeply before answering. "I-"
"Let me guess. You're feeling responsible. Guilty, even."
"Yeah." Harry leaned back, surprised.
"Don't. It's not your fault. My gran used to tell me, 'if you've done everything you can, and everything still goes horribly wrong, don't feel bad. It's God's way of keeping you humble'."
Harry snorted. "Your gran sounds like a character, mate."
Neville smiled. "You've no idea. I think you'd like her. D'you think Hermione would?"
"What's with you and the subject changes? And yes, I think- wait, why would it matter?"
Neville turned red and pocketed his wand, standing. He looked at the clock. "Whoa. Hungry. Almost dinner, isn't it?"
"Neville! Answer me!"
"I can never remember. Does it start at six or seven?"
"Neville!"
Harry was on his way to the owlrey that Saturday to send a letter home. He'd stopped telling his parents everything that went on at Hogwarts. They'd just worry and fret and yell and he didn't want them to do that. So he'd filled the letter with stuff about classes, his friends, how it was so obvious Neville and Hermione liked each other. He'd even been incredibly brave and mentioned Luna. Something he was sure that Petunia would zero in on and the return letter would be full of questions about her.
He wasn't looking forward to it, but the alternative was so much worse. He rounded a corner and bounced off someone.
"Potter?"
Great. This should be interesting. "Malfoy."
"Ooh, I'm back to last names. Did I do something?"
"You're a ponce. Does that count?"
"Bugger off." Malfoy shoved past him, and only then did Harry notice that the other boy's eyes were sunken and red.
"Hey!"
Malfoy stopped. "What?"
"...I'm sorry."
"For what? Killing my father?"
Harry shook his head. "No. If you'd seen what he did. No, I'm not sorry for that. I'm sorry it hurt you and your mum."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?!" Malfoy whipped around, eyes wet. "Am I supposed to forgive you? That's not going to happen! You can't just apologize and make everything okay again! You. Killed. My. Dad. I can never forgive you for that. But," he laughed brokenly. " the worst part is, things are better now. My mother smiles sometimes. Do you know how long it's been since I saw that?"
"I..."
Malfoy held up a hand. "Don't, Potter. Just...don't. I'm not going to attack you. You're not my enemy. But we'll never be friends."
With that, Harry's one-time nemesis left, leaving behind him an echo of a voice and an aura of sadness and grief. He watched Malfoy go, and wondered if he'd made the wrong decision down in the Chamber. His mind flashed images of blood spattered floors and dead little girls. He remembered the taunting words and eyes of a madman. He focused on Luna bleeding to death under his hands and knew that he hadn't made the wrong choice.
That didn't help him knowing how it felt to kill.
On a Tuesday in the middle of October, for once not Halloween, six of the escaped prisoners were spotted twenty miles from Hogsmeade. Rather typically of the school, not much else was talked about in the days afterward. Harry found himself listening avidly to the talk around him. For all his occasional absentmindedness, he was a smart kid. The letter over the summer, the incident at the Quidditch pitch, his talk with Dumbledore. All of these things added up to something. Some event taking place in the background.
He couldn't fathom what. He knew they wanted him. He knew why. But he still felt as if he was missing something. So he went to the best source of knowledge he could think of. The one place where he could be guaranteed to find an answer.
"Hey, Hermione. I need your help with something."
Harry huffed and tossed yet another old newspaper away from. The table they'd commandeered in the library was covered in the things. He and Hermione had started looking into the history of the convicts. That meant digging way back into the original trials. What they had discovered wasn't very helpful.
"Honestly," Hermione sighed and rubbed her brow. "it's like they were more interested in selling papers than reporting the actual event."
"I know," Neville nodded enthusiastically. "it's like they're a newspaper or something!"
She hit him.
Harry grinned at their antics and took another unread paper from the pile. "Oh, hello, hello!" he flipped the front page around to show the others. "Think I'm onto something with this one."
The headline read; MUGGLE MASSACRE, EX-DEATH EATERS TO BLAME. CONVICTION A CERTAINTY. Below the headline were three pictures. The first was of an emaciated group of men and women, howling and screaming at the camera. The second was of a destroyed street. Blood spatters were still staining the asphalt, but the bodies had long since been removed. The third was of a thin, once-handsome man. He stared dully out at them with empty eyes. The caption under this read:Sirius Black, fugitive and murderer, captured at the scene.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Hermione said impatiently. "Start reading."
So Harry did.
Bellatrix Lestrange was once the favorite daughter of the Black family. Beautiful, brilliant, and possessed of the dark, sadistic streak that characterized her family. Upon her marriage to Rabastan Lestrange, she became a Death Eater. Her sadism and willingness to torture and murder was unmatched, and she soon grew to be the favored of Voldemort. She was convicted of torturing and murdering the parents of Neville Franklin Longbottom.
Oskar Travers was an assassin. He drifted from England to the continent and back, taking contracts on and for anyone. A cold man, possessed of little emotion and less heart, his targets were known to be dispatched with quick, cunning brutality. Five years before Voldemort's fall Travers drifted into his eye, and was quickly offered a position. He gladly took it. He was sentenced for the dual murders of Gideon and Fabian Prewitt.
Alecto Carrow was a thug. Pure magical talent and a cruel imagination. Her only other quality of worth to Voldemort was her lack of intelligence and willingness to do anything at all for him. She brought her brother into the fold and together they wreaked havoc on Voldemort's enemies. They specialized in the murder of Muggles, making it look as if no magic were involved in the attacks. When the Aurors came to capture her, she and her brother fought until their wands were snapped. Amycus Carrow was killed.
John Finch was a sadist of the truest form, topped only by Bellatrix Lestrange. He captured, tortured, and eventually killed fifteen young witches before finally being captured.
The brothers Lestrange, Rabastan and Rodolphus, were the backbone of Voldemort's army. Brilliant tacticians, neither hampered by morals or conscience. They directed the campaign of terror the Death Eaters carried out against Magical Britain.
Bartemius Crouch Sr was once a high ranking official in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. When it was discovered that he had been purposefully arranging escapes for captured Death Eaters, he and his son killed six Aurors before they were captured.
"My God," Hermione whispered, covering her mouth. She pushed the paper she'd been reading over to him. "Harry, look at this."
Harry took the paper and read the story of Sirius Black. The more he read, the more he once again started to hate a man he'd never met.
Sirius Black was once the prodigal son of his family. The perennial black sheep. Where they went north, he went south. If they wanted him to do something, he would do the opposite, just to spite them. On entering Hogwarts, he caused a massive scandal by being the only Black to be sorted into Gryffindor. He met James Potter,and the rest was history. Best man at the wedding, Harry's godfather, their most trusted friend.
Right up until he betrayed them. Sirius Black went to Azkaban for betraying the location of the Potter family to Voldemort. Harry finally knew why he grew up without his birth parents. His hands clenched, the paper crinkled around his hands.
"Harry?"
He swallowed thickly. He was looking at the answer, and all he wanted to do was make Black hurt. He barely felt Hermione's hand on his.
"Harry, please look at me."
His eyes shot up to hers. Her brown eyes were full of sympathy. "He was their friend." he sniffed. She took the paper from his numb hands.
"I know." she said quietly.
"Who would do that? Betray their friend like that?"
"I don't know."
Harry took a deep, shaky breath. He covered her hand with his own and tried a reassuring smile. "I'm okay." he said. She quirked an eyebrow. "Mostly. I...just don't get how he could do that."
"That's why you're better than he is." she said, wrapping him into a hug. He leaned into it gratefully. He tried to find the words to tell her how much that meant to him. What he came up with was,
"Thanks, Hermione."
She hugged him tighter. "Anytime, Harry. Anytime."
Harry was on his way to his first Hagrid taught Care of Magical Creatures. It was a cloudy, windy day and he was very much not looking forward to it. He like Hagrid, but what creatures the man thought was interesting were thought by the rest of the world to be dangerous. Last time it had been hippogryphs. Harry wasn't sure what the giant man had in store for them this time, but he probably wouldn't like it.
"Harry!" someone screamed before a flash of red sent him spinning into unconsciousness.
He woke unable to move or speak. He was lying flat on his back in wet grass. The night sky wheeled overhead through gaps in the tree canopy. That, and the hoots and calls of various night creatures, told Harry where he was.
The Forbidden Forest.
If he could have groaned, he would. The last time he was here, nothing good had come of it. He didn't have high hopes for this time, either.
"Well, well. He's awake."
The voice reminded him enough of Lucius Malfoy to make him go cold with fear. It was just as calm, just as cold, just as completely and utterly mad. He wished he could move his head to see the speaker, then heard footsteps on the grass coming his way. Ragged boots came into view, followed by equally ratty trousers. Then he saw gnarled hands gripping a wand, leading up to a gaunt, haunted face.
One that he recognized.
His eyes widened.
Standing above him with death in her eyes was Alecto Carrow. His fingers flexed and-forgive
Wait.
He could move.
"I've been-" she stared, but Harry punched out with his power, manifesting a comet of golden light to slam her across the clearing into a tree. As Carrow flew through the air she flicked her wand. Her impact with the tree cracked in the air, and she slid to the ground unharmed as the tree fell behind her.
Some instinct guided his power through his limbs. Freed from the body-bind, he scrambled to his feet around the same time Carrow regained hers. Light swirled around his clenched fists and leaked from his eyes. She started laughing, high and insane.
"You've got teeth, Potter!" she gasped between laughs. "I like it! But," she was suddenly deadly calm as she flicked her wand and threw hundreds of wooden splinters in Harry's direction. He yelped and drew a curved shield in front of himself. It flickered under the assault but held, the sound not unlike hail falling on a metal roof. Through the distorted air his shield created he saw her pause and in that moment flicked his hand forward. The shield darted forward, turning horizontal and becoming a blade that Carrow barely managed to avoid.
More trees fell as the golden wedge cut through them like butter. Harry breathed hard and launched another attack. Carrow dodged or batted them away, and retaliated with a curse. It screamed at him and he could almost smell the pain it would cause should it hit. He ducked, or would have, but his feet slipped in the wet grass. The curse hit him dead on in the chest.
All he could do was scream.
Pain.
Pain.
Pain.
Unlike anything he had felt before. Pain so great that he screamed his throat raw. An eternity passed in the time he was under the spell. Later he would find out it was only a few seconds, but in that moment...eons passed.
Then it was over, and Carrow was laughing again. "Did you really think you could beat me? You're only a boy!"
"Go to hell." Harry rasped, rising to one knee. He punched out with his hands, sending a wall of amber fire at her. Her wand swished left then right, diverting the flame around her. Harry clenched his fists, then pulled them back. The fire arced up and behind her, driving down in a column directly on top of her head. She screamed in pain as she burned.
Harry watched, not letting up until his vision was graying and a ten foot circled where Carrow stood was ash. Only when he was beyond doubt that she was dead did he let up. Then he turned and started limping his way back to the castle. A cold wind sprung up and limbs started to sway. Leaves rustled against each other. A cold rain started to fall.
"Great." he mumbled. "Just great."
He wove a shield around himself as best he could. The drain sent him staggering to lean against a wet trunk for a moment. He pushed the knowledge that he had killed again to the back of his mind and focused on putting one tired foot in front of the other.
His shield failed at the gates. It was a thoroughly soaked, tired Harry that made his way to the school's massive front doors. To his surprise a group of people, headed by the terrifyingly scarred Auror called Moody, was waiting for him. McGonagall was there, and so was Flitwick, Sprout, Hagrid, some other teachers he didn't know, most of the prefects, and Dumbledore. They were, to a one, soaked through.
"Harry!" Hagrid shouted, reaching him just as his knees gave out. The big man scooped Harry up and carried him over. "What happened?"
Harry snagged Dumbledore's sleeve when they reached him. Electric blue eyes peered into his. "Harry?" he said softly. "Which one of them was it?"
"Carrow." Harry replied. "She's dead, sir."
"I see." Dumbledore placed a wrinkled hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Harry."
Harry's eyes blurred and his throat constricted. "So am I."
"Hagrid, take him to the hospital wing." Dumbledore ordered. "Madam Pomfrey should have a look at him."
"Right you are, Professor." Hagrid rumbled, then started wading through the people. "'Scuse me, pardon me. Sorry, Professor Flitwick, didn't see you."
Over Hagrid's shoulder, Harry watched Dumbledore started speaking intently with Moody. What about, he didn't know. Nor care. He just wanted it to be over, and for the last few hours to have never happened.
As Hagrid carried him through the castle, whispers following him, he knew neither of those things was going to happen.
END CHAPTER SEVEN
Note: So, yeah. Another chapter down. I gotta say, I hope you guys are having as much fun reading this as I am writing it. At any rate, I'm thinking about ideas for my next project. I'll tell you more about them in other AN's and you can tell me what you think.
Or not.
Either way: Read, Review and, most importantly, Enjoy!