The first chapter of year two.

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The next chapter will be published the coming Saturday.


Harry Potter: A Flaw in Fate

The Riddle's Plight

I. Back Again

Waves crashed violently against the jagged rocks that lined an island hidden somewhere deep within the North Sea. Powerful winds crashed against the peeling black gates, easily drowning out the miserable creaking noise they birthed.

Miserable.

It was the perfect word to describe such a place. The darkened sky was certainly miserable. So was the never-ending rain that poured violently against the equally vicious ocean surface. Even the prison itself was perfectly miserable: a large triangular prism, painted a dull grey that hid perfectly beneath the vengeful clouds.

But it was the cold that truly sealed the deal.

Frost lined the prison, and the jagged rocks, and even the peeling black gates. There was a sense of hopelessness to the place. Hope, happiness, love - the unbearable cold drowned them all out, leaving nothing but sadness and despair.

The dementors make sure of that. Filthy, floating blankets -

A gaunt, pale woman occupied the cell at the furthest corner of the highest floor. All of the prisoners on the top floor were given their own cell - both for their sakes and the guards' - but even now the woman remained awfully pleased with the arrangement.

"Such an honor." she said in a sing-song voice as she lay across the freezing floors of her cell. They didn't feel so cold anymore; they hadn't felt that way in nearly a decade.

It's warm, almost. Feels nice.

Perhaps she was going insane. That was what the plump man who had visited her last - Minister Fudge, unless she was mistaken - had told her. That had been a year ago, and although she didn't remember much of him, she didn't think she liked him very much.

He'd be back soon, no doubt, to ensure his favourite prisoners were locked up all nice and tight. Perhaps he would bring Lucius with him again, too.

"Slippery blonde prat." the woman murmured, watching as her breath fogged up the ground beneath her, "And Fudgy, too. Fudgy thinks Lucius is innocent, and he calls me mad."

I suppose Fudgy might be onto something, though.

But she had always been like that, hadn't she? Her master had always said so, after all.

She couldn't be completely insane - it just wasn't possible. There were times, even now, when she felt the cold. There were times when she felt happy and sad, lovely and mad -

But there were times when her mind felt clearer, too . . . times when she felt worried or afraid.

Master . . .

Perhaps that was who she was worried about. She couldn't be worried about herself, after all. The dementors had stopped feeding on her long ago. They didn't like feeding off her, apparently - not that she could understand why.

I think I'm delicious. Blankets have no taste.

It was her mind, most likely. That's what master had told her years and years ago. It was all scrambled, all mixed up and confusing - insanity, master had called it. Madness.

But only sometimes. Not always insane - just sometimes.

Occlumency helped. So did discipline - not that she had any of it. Being lonely, too.

A healthy dose of reality.

The woman glanced out her cell once more. Dark, cloaked figures flew around the prison in circles, frost following in their wake.

Unhealthy, really.

But there was no need for sanity here. No need at all.

Insanity . . . I'm not insane. Just scrambled. All mixed up.

"It must've been because of mother." The woman nodded, pressing a long, curved fingernail against her bottom lip, "She and Auntie were always oh so irritating."

Yes, that must've been it. Her family were all very strange, herself included. It wouldn't have surprised her if it was a nice bit of obscure magic that had addled her mind. Far stranger things had happened.

Mum and dad were cousins, too.

But master said that shouldn't have mattered. Magic was magical, it was powerful -

Mum's parents were cousins. Dad's, too. And the ones before them, and the ones before them, and the ones before then -

Perhaps it all added up. Perhaps then it might be something even magic couldn't fix.

That wasn't to say she cared, though - far from it. She would remain this way, even if she could choose to be normal.

It was so much more fun this way.

"But master," complained the woman, rolling onto her side, moaning, "master, you've ruined my fun."

It was a shame. Her master was powerful - unfathomably so - but master was still more normal than she was. Not even master could see things in the strange, twisted way that she could -

At least, master couldn't before.

But master would be more now. Master would know now, master would have become far greater than ever before. Master would, at long last, become truly unbeatable.

But that isn't right either.

There was still the boy.

"Itty bitty Potter." whispered the woman, "Ickle Harry -"

The woman paused. The ends of her lips curled upwards in a cruel fashion, and she giggled madly.

"Master was right." she said with a grin, "Grindelwald, too."

If only master had been right eleven years earlier. She really ought to have listened -

She stopped laughing suddenly.

The cold had returned. She didn't like that very much. She didn't like the clarity it provided, the worry and fear that wormed its way into her heat. It was every bit as infuriating as her mother had been.

The frost pressed against her like a knife to the neck. Her body froze, her eyes wide with fear. Panic clawed at her heart, scratching at it like nails on a chalkboard.

Master's hurt. Master -

The woman groaned. She hated when everything was clear. She didn't like being miserable when she knew she was. There was nothing fun about that.

Fire raged within her heart, thawing the ice as quickly as it had come. Something strong, powerful, and familiar exploded within her. Euphoria, adrenaline - the curious little feelings she'd loved all her life. Finally, they were back, after so long -

The woman stilled at once. Warmth caressed her like a long lost friend, for a long lost friend it was. The cold slowly faded away, but not the clarity. She could still see clearly, but now the fear was gone -

"Master." croaked the woman, breathing heavily as she pushed herself off the frosty floors. Her heartbeat quickened and the blood in her veins burned beautifully. For the first time in nearly eleven years, she felt alive.

"Good evening, Bella." said a high, cold voice.

Bellatrix Lestrange straightened up. She had been beautiful once; she still was, quite truthfully, if one overlooked her frail body and dirt-covered skin. Her curly black hair fell roughly against her bony shoulders, it was true - but her cheekbones were still high, her eyes still dark, her features still noble.

Cracked and cold, her lips parted as she turned around. Her eyes slid across the one opposite her, shining as laughter escaped her.

Gone was the angelic form her master had once held, replaced by a shadowy form with scarlet eyes like blood beneath the light. Lady Voldemort was little more than a spirit now.

Bellatrix had known this would be the case, of course. It meant little, really. It would be resolved in time. It always was.

Death was a stranger to Lady Voldemort, and always would be.

"It has been quite some time, hasn't it?" The spirit flickered, "Nearly eleven years."

"It's been so boring." admitted Bellatrix, her shoulders sinking, "And I've been worried."

The spirit seemed to smile.

"Sanity, insanity." it whispered softly, "How you hover in between. You amuse me, Bella - but now is not a time for sentiment. I have much to do before you may leave this place."

"But master!" whined Bellatrix, "It's miserable here. I can come, I can still use a wand - I've still got a body, you could use that -"

"And that, Bella," hissed the spirit, "is the problem."

Bellatrix's eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. She stared blankly ahead for a moment, and then -

"You're checking on them." she realised aloud, "You're making sure they're safe."

My body would only slow her down . . .

"I am." the spirit agreed, "I have already checked on the two at Hogwarts. As for the rest, Nagini shall accompany me. I know where they all are, of course, having ensured their safety myself. All except one."

"The cup is still in my vault, my lady." said Bellatrix with absolute certainty, "I haven't moved it, not ever -"

"Not the cup, Bellatrix." The spirit seemed amused, her scarlet eyes glowing brighter than before, "The book you entrusted to your dear sister, Narcissa. My diary."

-(xXx)-

"Watch the cake, boy!" hissed Uncle Vernon as Harry got up from the kitchen table.

It was the last day of July - his birthday - and, more importantly, the night of Uncle Vernon's highly-anticipated dinner party. It was all the man had talked about for the past two weeks, and it was starting to get on Harry's nerves.

Unfortunately, there was little Harry could do but listen to the incessant mumbles of his Uncle. All Harry's spellbooks, his wand, robes, and even his cauldron had been locked in a cupboard under the stairs by Uncle Vernon the instant Harry had come home.

I relax for one moment, and this happens.

It was just thanks to dumb luck that Harry managed to hide Emily's notebook from his Uncle. Harry hadn't used it much, though; there was simply no way he would risk it being confiscated.

During the nights, however, Harry would be a bit more bold. He'd read from the notebook every evening this week. So long as Uncle Vernon didn't hear any noises from his room, Harry would be fine - and with Dudley's thundering snores dominating the house at night, Harry was perfectly safe to read to his heart's content. It made him wonder why Uncle Vernon disliked Hedwig's hooting so much.

Or how he can hear it at all.

Regardless, Harry had taken to looking through the notebook as often as he could. He had made a very disappointing amount of progress this summer. It wasn't his fault - at least, he didn't think so; most of his belongings were locked away, separated from him by the wooden door of his old cupboard.

Still, there was magic Harry could learn. He had practiced many, many times in the last week alone - but despite how hard he tried, he had made very little progress with his ventures in wandless magic. It was certainly easier to use wandless magic - Harry could easily levitate small objects now, and all without so much as breaking a sweat - but that was it. Everything else - even things as simple as unlocking a lock - seemed just out of his reach.

But why?

Perhaps it had to do with a lack of understanding. It was both the obvious answer and the most annoying one. How exactly was Harry supposed to solve a problem like that? Emily's notebook, for once, had nothing, and both Dumbledore and Voldemort were unlikely to tutor him in such a thing, especially at Number four, Privet Drive.

Ironic.

"Sorry, Uncle Vernon." mumbled Harry mindlessly, making sure to walk strictly around the fancy cake as he made his way to the sink. Uncle Vernon paid no mind, instead scarfing down a piece of bacon before turning to face his wife and son.

"Now then, I think we should run through the schedule one more time," he said loudly, "We should all be in position at eight o'clock. Petunia, you will be - ?"

"In the lounge," said Aunt Petunia promptly, "waiting to welcome them graciously into our home."

"Good, good. And Dudley?"

"I'll be waiting to open the door." Dudley put on a foul, simpering smile, "May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?"

"They'll love him!" cried Aunt Petunia rapturously, clapping her hands together fondly. Harry forced himself not to roll his eyes as he washed his plate in the sink.

"Yes, yes, excellent Dudley." said Uncle Vernon with a prideful nod, one which abruptly vanished as he turned to face Harry, "And you?"

"I'll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I don't exist."

"Right you are." said Uncle Vernon nastily, wagging his finger, "Now, I'll lead them into the lounge, introduce you, Petunia, and pour them drinks. At eight-fifteen -"

"I'll announce dinner," said Aunt Petunia.

"And, Dudley, you'll say -"

"May I take you through to the dining room, Mrs. Mason?" said Dudley, offering his fat arm to an invisible woman.

"My perfect little gentleman!" sniffed Aunt Petunia, her eyes watering.

"And you?" said Uncle Vernon viciously to Harry.

"I'll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I don't exist." repeated Harry dully.

"Precisely. Now then, we ought to get in a few good compliments at dinner. Petunia, any ideas?"

"Vernon tells me you're a wonderful golfer, Mr. Mason . . . Do tell me where you bought your dress, Mrs. Mason . . ."

"Perfect . . . Dudley?"

"How about - We had to write an essay about our hero at school, Mr. Mason, and I wrote about you."

This was too much for both Aunt Petunia and Harry. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and hugged her son whilst Harry ducked beneath the counter so they wouldn't see him laughing. Not even Aunt Petunia could mistake his tears to be born from pride.

"And you, boy?"

Harry fought to keep his face straight as he straightened up.

"I'll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I don't exist."

"Too right, you will," said Uncle Vernon forcefully, "Too right, you will."

-(xXx)-

"May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?"

Harry rolled his eyes, allowing himself to fall onto the floor of his bedroom. He leaned against the side of his bed, staring blankly before him at nothing in particular. The lamp on his bedside table quietly flicked off, and darkness seeped into the room.

Slowly, the world around him vanished into nothingness. The walls that surrounded Harry pushed away from him as though he were something contagious. The hardwood floors flipped over, and when the planks fell back to the ground they had turned to stone. The large white door - one which Uncle Vernon insisted upon keeping closed as often as possible - crumbled to ashes, the walls that surrounded it forming an archway.

Harry looked around. The place was familiar, the place was intimate. His heartbeat quickened, his breathing suddenly much heavier than before.

"Good evening, Harry." said a cool, smooth voice.

Harry turned. They were in the third-floor corridor again, just as it had been that night many weeks ago. She stood just as she had before, pacing back and forth in front of the Mirror of Erised. Her chocolate brown hair hung beautifully upon her shoulders, her sapphire eyes glowing with mirth.

The woman paused, turning to face him. A fond smile slowly dominated her features.

"I've missed you." she admitted, her voice barely more than a whisper, "So very, very, much."

She was getting closer now, the magic that surrounded her growing more and more powerful with every step she took. A gentle breeze turned to powerful winds, crashing violently against Harry, but he could not move - he was far too enraptured with the woman before him.

"Come, Harry." she hissed, her voice flooded with emotion. Her eyes were flashing violently, jumping from sapphire to scarlet and back again. Her skin paled, her hair grew darker and her features more perfect in the wickedest way. The shadows seemed to stretch towards her almost longingly as the wind picked up, blowing her hair within it.

"Come with me." she whispered, reaching out a hand, "We can be family."

Harry felt his hand raise, snaking its way towards the woman's. She smiled, her eyes shining.

Their hands were two feet apart now - a foot and a half - a foot away -

"Harry Potter!"

The world righted itself at once. He was back in Privet Drive, sitting with his back pressed against his bed. Back were the thin sheets and the shabby curtains, back were the loose floorboards and the creaky door.

Harry groaned quietly, his head lowered to face the floor. Nightmares had become a common experience for him in the past few weeks, especially that one in particular. But during the day, when he was awake -

Harry tilted his head, trying his best to steady his breathing. He slowly looked up.

Two enormous green eyes stared back at him.

Harry managed not to shout, but it was a close thing. The little creature on the bed had large, bat-like ears and bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls. It stepped back and bowed so low that the end of its long, thin nose touched the floor. Harry noticed that it was wearing what looked like an old pillowcase, with rips for arm and leg-holes.

"Er - hello," said Harry nervously.

"Harry Potter!" repeated the creature in a high-pitched voice Harry was sure would carry down the stairs, "So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir . . . Such an honor it is . . ."

"Er - thanks." said Harry uncertainly, "W-who are you, exactly?"

"Dobby, sir. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf," said the creature.

"Oh - really?" said Harry, "Er - I don't mean to be rude or anything, but - this isn't a great time for me to have a house-elf in my bedroom."

Aunt Petunia's high, false laugh sounded from the living room. The elf hung his head.

"Not that I'm not pleased to meet you," added Harry quickly, "but, er, is there any particular reason you're here?"

"Oh, yes, sir," said Dobby earnestly, "Dobby has come to tell you, sir . . . it is difficult, sir . . . Dobby wonders where to begin . . ."

Harry waited, his hand instinctively inching closer to his pockets. They stilled suddenly - Harry had remembered that he did not have his wand; that was downstairs, tucked away within the old cupboard.

Hopefully Dobby isn't out to kill me or anything.

"Dobby has come to warn Harry Potter." said the elf, leaning closer as he spoke, "Dobby has heard things, Dobby has . . . Dobby hears that bad things is happening soon . . ."

"What?" said Harry sharply, leaning in as well, "Dobby, what's happening? What've you heard?"

Dobby shook slightly, shivering as he forced himself to speak.

"Dobby's master went to Azkaban, Harry Potter sir." squeaked the elf, "Dobby's master was visiting, you see - Dobby was with him too -"

"Go on." said Harry quickly.

"We was there to check up on the prisoners." Dobby wobbled slightly, leaning against the shelf at the end of the room, "They was quiet sir, the most of them - but she wasn't."

"She?" repeated Harry, "Dobby, who's she?"

"The s-strange one." stuttered Dobby, "Lestrange. She said strange things, Dobby's master says. Master says she hasn't changed at all, Harry Potter sir!"

"And?"

"She says strange things." the elf repeated weakly, "She says she'll be back. Says that bad things will happen soon. Says that she'll find you soon."

"Who's she, Dobby?" asked Harry, "Does she mean herself or Vol -"

Dobby squeaked in horror, crashing into the desk opposite Harry. Harry could hear the downstairs conversation pause for a moment before quickly resuming.

" - she-who-must-not-be-named, then." said Harry quickly, "But nevermind that, what else?"

"Harry Potter must not return to Hogwarts!" the elf squeaked loudly, "Harry Potter will be in grave danger if he does, Harry Potter must not go!"

"What?" said Harry, "Why?"

"D-Dobby's master was planning something." croaked Dobby, leaning closer in a conspicuous manner, "D-Dobby's master was looking for something. After we was in Azkaban, master w-was looking."

"And?" questioned Harry, "Looking for what?"

But Dobby was taking longer to respond now. His hands seemed to inch closer to his own throat. Dobby glanced towards Harry's desk, and before Harry could stop him, Dobby bounded off the bed, seized Harry's desk lamp, and started beating himself around the head with ear splitting yelps. Harry leapt to his feet, yanking the lamp away from the strange house-elf -

A sudden silence fell downstairs. Two seconds later Harry, heart thudding madly, heard Uncle Vernon coming into the hall, calling, "Dudley must have left his television on again, the little tyke!"

"Quick! In the closet!" hissed Harry, stuffing Dobby in, shutting the door, and flinging himself onto the bed just as the door handle turned.

"What - the - devil - are - you - doing?" said Uncle Vernon through gritted teeth, his face horribly close to Harry's, "You've just ruined the punch line of my Japanese golfer joke! One more sound and you'll wish you'd never been born, boy!"

He stomped flat-footed from the room.

Shaking, Harry let Dobby out of the closet. The elf swayed slightly before turning to face Harry with dazed eyes.

"What was your master looking for, Dobby?" repeated Harry quickly, gazing expectantly at the elf.

"D-Dobby knows not, Harry Potter sir!" squeaked the elf, "But master says the strange woman knew it was gone. Master says the strange woman was right. Bad things will happen at Hogwarts this year!"

Harry sank into the uncomfortable bed the Dursleys had bestowed upon him, his thoughts all jumbled up. Was the elf being so confusing on purpose? Perhaps Dobby's master had sent the elf to stop Harry from going to school as a sort of practical joke.

"I have to go to Hogwarts, Dobby." said Harry eventually, "You saw what the Dursleys are like - I can't stay here. Hogwarts is safer."

"Harry Potter must not go!" squeaked the elf desperately, "Harry Potter will not be safe!"

"I'm going." declared Harry, "I have to. Hogwarts is my home."

"Dobby must not let Harry Potter go to Hogwarts!" the elf leapt up from the floor, standing upon Dudley's old desk, "Dobby even stopped Harry Potter sir's letters, but Harry Potter wasn't getting many."

"I'm still going - wait, you've been stopping my letters?"

"Dobby has them here, sir," said the elf. Stepping nimbly out of Harry's reach, he pulled out six or seven envelopes from the inside of the pillowcase he was wearing. Harry could make out Nott's curved scrawl, Greengrass' neat writing, and even a scribble that looked as though it was from the Hogwarts gamekeeper, Hagrid. Beneath them, Dobby held what appeared to be a large leather book.

"Dobby." said Harry with narrowed eyes, "I'm still going to Hogwarts, with or without those letters."

The elf sighed, its shoulders sinking slightly. Dobby returned the small stack of letters to the insides of his pillowcase before slowly turning around.

"Then Harry Potter leaves Dobby no choice," said the elf sadly.

Before Harry could move, Dobby had darted to the bedroom door, pulled it open, and sprinted down the stairs.

Harry sprang after him at once, his heart beating loudly within his chest. He quietly made his way through the hall and down the staircase, jumping the last six steps in a catlike manner. From the dining room he heard Uncle Vernon saying, ". . . tell Petunia that very funny story about those American plumbers, Mr. Mason. She's been dying to hear . . ."

Harry ran up the hall into the kitchen and felt his eyes widen in horror.

Aunt Petunia's masterpiece of a pudding, the mountain of cream and sugared violets, was floating up near the ceiling. On top of a cupboard in the corner crouched Dobby.

"No." croaked Harry, "Dobby please -"

"Harry Potter must promise he's not going back to school -"

"Dobby . . . Dobby please . . ."

"Promise, sir -"

"I can't."

Dobby gave him a sad look.

"Then Dobby must do it, sir, for Harry Potter's own good."

Harry watched as the pudding fell to the floor with a heart-stopping crash. Cream splattered the windows and walls as the dish shattered. With a crack like a whip, Dobby vanished.

Harry didn't remember much of what had happened next. At first, it looked as though Uncle Vernon would manage to gloss over the whole thing. He shooed the shocked Masons back into the dining room, promised Harry he would flay him to within an inch of his life when the Masons had left, and handed him a mop. Aunt Petunia dug some ice cream out of the freezer and Harry, still shaking, started scrubbing the kitchen clean.

Then the owl came.

Aunt Petunia was just passing around a box of after-dinner mints when a huge barn owl swooped through the dining room window, dropped a letter on Mrs. Mason's head, and swooped out again. Mrs. Mason screamed like a banshee and ran from the house shouting about lunatics. Mr. Mason stayed just long enough to tell the Dursleys that his wife was mortally afraid of birds of all shapes and sizes, and to ask whether this was their idea of a joke.

Harry stood in the kitchen, clutching the mop for support, as Uncle Vernon advanced on him, a demonic glint in his tiny eyes.

"Read it!" he hissed angrily, brandishing the letter the owl had delivered, "Go on - read it!"

Harry took it, his hands trembling. He was very aware of what the letter contained.

'Dear Mr. Potter,

We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at twelve minutes past nine.

As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C).

We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy.

Enjoy your holidays!

Yours sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk'

Harry looked up from the letter and gulped.

"You didn't tell us you weren't allowed to use magic outside school." said Uncle Vernon, a mad gleam dancing in his eyes, "Forgot to mention it - slipped your mind, I daresay!"

"I don't even have my wand!" argued Harry, "How could I have done it without a wand?"

"L-Lily could." Aunt Petunia sank against the wall behind her, pressing a handkerchief to her forehead, "Back when she was y-younger, before she went to that wretched school -"

"That's accidental magic." Harry explained to deaf ears, "You can't control that -"

But Uncle Vernon was not listening. His fists balled as a sudden nasty smile overtook his features.

"Well, I've got news for you, boy. I'm locking you up. You're never going back to that school . . . never . . . and if you try and magic yourself out - they'll expel you!"

And laughing like a maniac, he dragged Harry back upstairs.

It was easily the worst birthday of Harry's life. Harry wanted nothing more than for it to end, to be able to wake up and have forgotten it all. Such a thing was unlikely to happen - Harry had already heard Uncle Vernon talking to his Aunt Petunia about installing bars on his windows.

Harry sank into his bed nearly an hour later, having been given the yelling of a lifetime from his Uncle.

So tired he was, Harry didn't notice the strange book that now sat upon his desk, nor the note attached to the top of it.