Prompt: Haunted

Chapter 3: Haunted

Wind whipped through dilapidated walls. The creaking from the stress on the load bearing beams should be enough to warn people the structure wasn't safe. Most people didn't get close enough to the Shrieking Shack to even hear the structural warnings. The rumors of the haunting were enough to keep people away. Harry never really understood that mentality. Not by witches and wizards anyway. The inhabitants of Hogsmeade would know enough about ghosts to understand they weren't to be feared. Harry guessed the screams that came from inside in the 70s were something very different than a standard haunted house. It would have been silent for decades. It seemed to be tradition now that kept witches and wizards away. Harry didn't care why as much as he understood it was true. He didn't want to risk his plan backfiring and bringing Death Eaters and snatchers to the heart of the village.

Standing in the main room, it was hard not to think of Sirius. He had been certain after watching his godfather fall through the veil that he would never feel such pain again. Harry was unprepared for how wrong that was. Hermione was in the hands of Voldemort. And worst of all, it was his fault. He broke the taboo. He brought the snatchers to their tent. If she died because of his mistakes, he'd never forgive himself.

"Harry," Ron said quietly. Whatever his friend saw on his face had the redhead taking a step back. "Are you sure about this?"

Something dark within him was rising to the surface. Harry didn't care. It wasn't just a connection to Voldemort's thoughts. He knew that now. There was something inside him. Something that was responding to his darkest thoughts. It should scare him. That it didn't would have concerned him at any other time in his life. If there was evil haunting him, possessing him, and it could help him get Hermione back, he'd welcome it. Embrace it. "Yes," he said simply, not wanting to explain himself further.

Remus entered through the hole they had made in the exterior wall and looked around at his old prison. Harry followed his gaze, noted the long scratch marks embedded in the walls. There was a darkness within the older wizard too. Remus never embraced it. The evidence of his conflict was literally written on the walls. Whatever this shack was to the people looking on from a distance, it wasn't nearly as bad as what it had been. Sensing someone's attention on him, Lupin focused on Harry. Concern was instant. Then resolve. "We're all set. Kingsley is on point. Fred and George have traps ready to go to keep anyone from running. Everyone else has disillusionment charms in place, surrounding us."

Harry looked out into the night, making sure the charms were undetectable. There were roughly twenty people in the shadows. All witches and wizards he respected. One was missing. There was a void he could almost touch. He desperately wanted Hermione at his side. Someone who could think about the details everyone else overlooked. Squeezing his eyes tight, he tried not to imagine what was happening to her. "They need to be ready to put the charms back in place. The taboo might break them."

"We think they're far enough back. Just in case, they've found physical barriers too. If all goes as planned, the snatcher's attention will be up here," Remus outlined, his wand out and ready.

Ron stepped up to stand on the other side of Harry. If there was uncertainty about the plan in either wizard, they kindly kept it to themselves. He got the sense that everyone there was more than ready to go on the offensive. Why no one had done so until now was a mystery to Harry. What had they all been waiting for? Dumbledore to rise from the grave to tell them what to do? Or worse, were they waiting for him? Remus had admitted that most in the Order understood Dumbledore left an important task to Harry. It was hard for Harry to accept that belief was enough to sit back and watch Voldemort destroy their world. And yet, all signs pointed to that fact. The Order responded quickly to Bill's summons. They assembled at Harry's request. There were no major barriers to getting organized. They'd just been waiting for some teenagers to save them. Any other time, he'd be angry. It was too minor of a frustration to waste his energy on. They wanted a leader to tell them what to do? They get it.

Gripping the wand in his hand tightly, the smooth handle felt foreign. He studied the hawthorn wand. It was Draco's. He recognized it immediately. The number of times it had been pointed at him through the years ensured its shape and color was seared into his memory. It was working fine for him. Mister Ollivander had informed him its allegiance had changed. He'd use it to take out as many Death Eaters as possible.

The darkness stirred within him again at the thoughts of what he would do to the people who hurt Hermione. Standing straight, he spoke to it, help me do this. It jumped in response. It was ready. "Voldemort."