The second of the third. A bit earlier than usual, but I imagine that's a good thing. I think the first scene in particular is a bit interesting. I've had many people tell me that Neville acts as a sort of substitute for Harry in this fic. He is, however, his own character with his own thoughts and actions. With Bellatrix now on the loose, I imagine he'll be going through quite a bit. Oh, and the last scene is just a bit of my own lore (though it seems to fit pretty nicely in my head). Enjoy (or don't, what do I care).
I've started a Discord. I intend for it to be a small, relaxed server - nothing to fancy or grand. If you have any questions about my writing, want to discuss my work, or simply want to hang out, you're more than welcome to join. The link is in my profile.
Read, review, and feel free to point out any errors/inconsistencies.
The next chapter will be published the coming Saturday.
Harry Potter: A Flaw in Fate
The Blackest of Nights
II. On the Other Side
Lush vegetation lined the walls of glass, basking in the golden glow of the sun. A long, thin plant pushed another aside, the thorns on its side bared like fangs. Neville watched as the other plant fell from the shelf. Shattered ceramics littered the floor.
"Knock it off." muttered Neville, approaching the plants. The one above hissed at him, blowing gleefully in the breeze as the smaller one squirmed below, "That's the second time this week."
Neville pulled a new pot out from a nearby drawer, carefully filling it with magical fertilizer. He could see the smaller plant through the gaps in his fingers. He watched as it stared up at him uncertainly.
"It's okay." he held out his hands, cupping them slightly, "I'm not going to hurt you."
The smaller plant slowly crawled into his grasp. Neville carefully placed it in the pot, covering its roots with soil.
"There." he whispered, placing the pot on a different shelf, "That's better."
The plant swayed merrily in the wind. The ghost of a smile flickered upon Neville's face.
Damp, folded sheets of parchment sat in the corner of his eye. His smile vanished just as quickly as it came. A thin, shaking hand reached towards the paper, his fingers wrapping tight around it. His vision swam; he could just barely make out the blurred words.
'Bellatrix Lestrange Escapes from Azkaban!'
Creak.
The door to the Longbottom Greenhouse swung open. A tall, gangly boy with bright red hair and freckles stumbled into the room, smiling. Neville quickly shoved the paper into his pocket, twitching as the boy's eyes lowered to his waist. The boy frowned slightly.
"Everything alright, Nev?" asked Ron uncertainly.
Neville's fingers trailed over the rolled up paper in his pocket. A frail woman with curly black hair, high cheekbones, and heavily-lidded eyes laughed wickedly in his mind.
"Fine." he lied, looking away, "Everything's fine."
-(xXx)-
Dark robes covered her body. Harry watched as the hem of her cloak brushed against the floor, scarring cracks into the earth beneath her. His eyes slowly rose, latching onto a pair of crimson orbs. They glowed like blood beneath the moonlight, swirling with power.
"You're afraid."
It wasn't a question. Harry grit his teeth, glaring at the woman that loomed before him.
"I'm determined." he corrected angrily, "You won't trick me again."
Scarlet eyes flickered, and the woman shifted. The ends of her lips curved upwards.
"They say the third time's the charm . . ."
Harry swore angrily, slashing his wand against his chest. A bright violet light burst from the tip of his wand, soaring through the air. The woman watched as it passed through her before crashing into the neatly patterned walls. She frowned.
"That wasn't very nice, Harry -"
"I hate you." snarled Harry, raising his wand again, "I fucking hate you -"
"Liar." the woman's hands rose to her hood. She pulled it down, revealing a dark haired girl with pale skin and hazel eyes. Harry took in a deep, unsteady breath.
"You're a liar, Harry." she whispered, "I am, too. I don't lie to myself, though."
Emily paused, her fingers slowly reaching towards him.
"I wouldn't lie to you either. Not ever. You know that."
"Shut up." Harry hissed, "I don't want to see your fucking face -"
"Then look away." her cold fingers pressed against his skin, gently trailing across his cheek, "But you won't, will you? You can't."
Harry flinched.
"Make up your mind, Harry." the girl whispered, gently running her fingers through his hair. Harry shivered, "You haven't much time."
Her eyes glowed scarlet again. Harry sank to his knees as the wind grew stronger, tearing the withered walls apart -
Harry shot up, glancing wildly around his borrowed bedroom at number four, Privet Drive. Realisation suddenly dawned upon him.
Just another nightmare.
Harry closed his eyes in relief, sinking back into his pillows.
-(xXx)-
"You mustn't blame yourself for the way the boy's turned out, Vernon," rang Aunt Marge's voice on the third day of her stay, "If there's something rotten on the inside, there's nothing anyone can do about it."
Harry irritably grit his teeth, his eyes firmly shut and his fingers pressed tightly against the dinner table.
Remember Hogsmeade. Don't say anything. She's not worth it -
Aunt Marge reached for her glass of wine.
"It's one of the basic rules of breeding," she said, "You see it all the time with dogs. If there's something wrong with the bitch, there'll be something wrong with the pup -"
Shards of glass flew from her hand as her wine glass exploded. Aunt Marge sputtered, raising her bloodied hands to her wine-soaked face.
"Marge!" squealed Aunt Petunia. "Marge, are you all right?"
"Not to worry," grunted Aunt Marge, mopping her face with her napkin, before pressing it against her cuts, "Must have squeezed it too hard. Did the same thing at Colonel Fubster's the other day. No need to fuss, Petunia, I have a very firm grip . . . just a bit of gauze will do."
Aunt Petunia nodded quickly, hurrying out of the room. Harry watched her retreating form, very aware of the rather suspicious glare Uncle Vernon sent his way.
"I'll be going to bed now." he said sharply, standing up, "I won't cause anything but trouble if I stay up any longer -"
"Too right you are." agreed Aunt Marge, snarling at him, "That school clearly hasn't beaten it out of you yet - what's it called again, Vernon?"
"St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys." said Uncle Vernon quickly, "It's a first-rate institution for hopeless cases."
"I see," said Aunt Marge, "Do they use the cane at St. Brutus's, boy?" she barked across the table.
"All the time." said Harry indifferently, turning to Uncle Vernon, "Can I go now?"
"I still don't like your tone, boy." said Aunt Marge, "If you can speak of your beatings in that casual way, they clearly aren't hitting you hard enough. Vernon, I'd write if I were you. Make it clear that you approve the use of extreme force in this boy's case -"
Harry followed after Aunt Petunia, letting the conversation behind him slowly fade away. He quickly bolted up the stairs before turning left, slamming his bedroom door shut. An angry red danced before his eyes, and Harry spun around, slamming his fist into the wall.
Something wrong with the bitch -
Harry pulled his hand away, his eyes tracing the outline of the dent in his wall. The hole was charred slightly. Harry watched as a small whiff of smoke wafted from it.
How dare she.
Slowly his heart rate returned to normal. Harry sank back into his bed, his hand outstretched. The leather-bound book that sat on his desk zoomed into his palm. He carefully opened it, his eyes falling upon the family photo that made up most of the front page. Harry traced the photo's outline with his pinky. A woman with red hair and a man that looked an awful lot like him smiled brightly.
Mum. Dad.
A baby with emerald eyes sat in the woman's grasp, giggling.
And me.
A single tear fell from his left eye, tracing a path down his cheek. Harry clamped his eyes firmly shut.
How dare she.
-(xXx)-
Many nights passed. Harry had known they would be unpleasant, but this was something else entirely.
The days were grueling. Most of his time was spent in the park by Magnolia Road. It was hot out, and within a few hours he felt parched - but the other alternative was listening to Aunt Marge's relentless shouts. Harry had never wanted to be away from Privet Drive more.
The park was rather boring, as it turned out. Harry would sit on the old swing set for hours, watching as kids came and went. No one had recognized him yet; it had been many years since any of his peers had last seen him. Harry was grateful for that.
Eventually the day would turn to night, and Harry would find himself walking home. He would hear Dudley and his friends nearby, shouting about one thing or another - but Dudley made sure they stayed far away from anywhere Harry might be.
He's finally growing a bit of a brain.
The day would end at the dinner table, where Harry was forced to eat alongside the Dursleys and Aunt Marge. The latter seemed rather pleased with the arrangement. There hadn't been a single day in the past week that she hadn't said something about him. Harry would simply grit his teeth as she spoke, his palms clenched beneath the table.
Hogsmeade. He would remind himself, You've got to get the form signed.
Finally, perhaps an hour later, he would sink into his mattress, wanting nothing more than to rip Aunt Marge's lips clean off. He would see it in his dreams, too - but within seconds they would fade away, replaced by visions of another.
"Harry . . ." she would whisper, the girl with the hazel eyes, "Harry -"
Her irises would burn like hot coals, flashing a bright scarlet. The air would grow colder around them, and Harry would sink to his knees -
Enough.
Harry shook his head, pushing the recurring nightmare aside as he looked up. He was sitting at the dinner table again, the Dursleys and Aunt Marge sitting opposite him. All of them were staring at him as though he were a deer in headlights.
"Er - what did you say?" asked Harry. Aunt Marge threw her hands in the air, her cutlery clattering against her plate.
"It's just as I said." she told Vernon, turning to face the man, "The boy just won't listen. He's a runt, that's it."
Harry grit his teeth irritably, his fingers wrapped tightly around the seat of his chair.
Don't. Remember the form, remember Hogsmeade -
But Aunt Marge's voice pierced his thoughts once more.
"It all comes down to blood, as I was saying the other day. Bad blood will out. Now, I'm saying nothing against your family, Petunia," she said, patting Aunt Petunia's bony hand with her shovel-like one, "but your sister was a bad egg. They turn up in the best families. Then she ran off with a wastrel and here's the result right in front of us."
Harry's grasp tightened. The girl with hazel eyes fluttered within his mind, whispering words in his ears as her eyes burned scarlet.
"How dare she . . ." she hissed, her long dark hair pressing against Harry's as she lowered her head to his shoulder, "You know what to do . . . what she deserves . . . I'll do it for you, if you want -"
"This Potter," continued Aunt Marge loudly, seizing the brandy bottle and splashing more into her glass and over the tablecloth. The hazel-eyed girl vanished from Harry's mind, "you never told me what he did?"
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were looking extremely tense. Dudley had even looked up from his pie to gape at his parents.
"He - he didn't work," said Uncle Vernon, with half a glance at Harry, "Unemployed."
"As I expected!" said Aunt Marge, taking a huge swig of brandy and wiping her chin on her sleeve, "A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger who -"
But the scarlet-eyed girl returned, and this time, Harry listened.
"He was not." whispered Harry quietly. The entire table fell silent.
"What was that?" asked Aunt Marge, glancing up with narrowed eyes.
"I said," repeated Harry, shaking angrily, "He was not."
Uncle Vernon slammed his fists onto the table. Harry watched with unseeing eyes as several forks and knives fell to the floor below.
"MORE BRANDY!" yelled Uncle Vernon, who had gone very white. He emptied his bottle into Aunt Marge's glass. "You, boy," he snarled at Harry. "Go to bed, go on -"
"No, Vernon," hiccupped Aunt Marge, holding up a hand, her tiny bloodshot eyes fixed on Harry's. A nasty smile was etched upon her features, "Go on, boy, go on. Proud of your parents, are you? They go and get themselves killed in a car crash - drunk, I expect -"
Crack.
Harry crooked his neck, his head tilted to the side. A thin, jagged line marred Aunt Petunia's tiled floors, stretching from one end of the kitchen to the other. The lights around them flickered for a moment, and as Harry turned back to Marge, they went out.
"You think they died in a car crash?" asked Harry, almost exasperated, "Like that could do a fucking thing to them?"
Aunt Marge had gone deathly silent. Her lips were firmly shut, and she had stopped speaking - but Harry found he didn't care. Something angry roared within his chest, clawing at his insides as it tried to reach the woman opposite him. Harry pressed the key against his heart, letting it free.
"They died because they were better." he hissed. A cold breeze swept through the room, "Because they were more."
Aunt Marge's skin slowly turned red. Her entire body began to swell, her skin tightening around her expanding body. Her tweed jacked ripped as her eyes widened with alarm. Slowly she rose to the ceiling.
"And I'm more, too."
The window shattered, and Aunt Marge was forced through it. The girl in Harry's head smiled, her lips pressed against his ears.
"We're more." she crooned, pressing her head against the side of his own, "So much more . . ."
Uncle Vernon was outside, trying to do something, anything. Aunt Petunia was there too, her head in her hands. Dudley hadn't moved. He was watching Harry nervously, as though he thought he would be next. Harry saw none of it.
I'm done.
Harry spun around, clambering up the stairs. The girl in his head nodded in approval, but Harry shoved her aside. Anger flooded his mind, and his palms balled into fists.
His room was just as messy as ever. Harry slashed his hand across his chest, watching as his belongings lazily zoomed into his trunk. He clicked it shut before hoisting it over his shoulders. His fingers wrapped tightly around his wand, which he plucked from his desk. Slowly he clambered back down the stairs.
"YOU BRING HER BACK!" roared Uncle Vernon, standing by the foot of the stairs, "YOU BRING HER BACK NOW, YOU PUT HER RIGHT -"
"No." said Harry firmly, breathing heavily, "She deserved what she got -"
Uncle Vernon lunged at him, but a second later he flew backwards, slamming against the kitchen wall. Harry quickly made his way down the hall, his fingers fumbling with the latch on the door.
"I'm going." he said, "I'll see you next summer, if I have to -"
The door swung open, and Harry forced his way through it, his wand in one hand and his trunk in the other.
-(xXx)-
It's cold.
Harry shivered, pressing his fingers tightly against his skull. A sudden rush of heat flooded his senses - but it faded quickly, and a moment later it was like it hadn't been there at all. Harry dropped his trunk as he took a seat, his back pressed against a low wall in Magnolia Crescent. He held one hand in the other, his head leaning against the wall behind him.
Something swirled before his eyes, and suddenly she stood before him.
"Get up." she said coolly, her eyes a bright scarlet.
"Fuck off." muttered Harry, not bothering to raise his head, "You're not even real."
Just like every other night for the last several months. Nothing more than a nightmare.
"A nightmare?" asked Voldemort, her eyes shining with mirth. She leant forward, her hand pressed against the bottom of Harry's chin.
"I am so much more than a nightmare, Harry . . ."
Harry looked away, forcing his eyes shut.
Focus your mind. She isn't real, you know that -
Slowly, his eyelids rose. The woman with the everchanging eyes was gone. Harry sighed with relief, his head resting against the wall once more.
Crack.
Harry shot up, his hand raised and his wand outstretched. Adrenaline pumped through his veins once more, and something cold tickled the back of his neck. Slowly he stepped forward, onto the street.
"Show yourself!"
"I can't." said a pouting voice, "I want to, but she said I couldn't."
Harry spun around. Someone loomed in the darkness - Harry caught a quick glimpse of dark, curly hair. A giggle rang through the gloomy street, and Harry raised his wand -
Bang.
Suddenly, the darkness of Magnolia Crescent was flooded with light. Harry slammed against the pavement in the nick of time, just barely avoiding something massive. He quickly pushed himself off the ground, coming face-to-face with perhaps the oddest thing he had ever seen.
It was a triple-decker bus, like the one tourists would take whenever they visited London. But it was purple - violently so - and it moved faster than any bus Harry had ever seen. The windows were all lined by darkened frames, and peeling golden letters adorned the windshield.
The Knight Bus.
Harry watched as the glass doors swung open, revealing a man with large, protruding ears and more than a few pimples. He was bedecked in a purple uniform, and on his head he wore a purple conductor's hat.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard," began the man, reading from several notecards he had pulled out of his front pocket, "just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this eve-"
Harry nodded slowly, peering over the hood of the bus. The road opposite him was bathed in light. No one was there.
"'Choo lookin' at?" said Stan, turning around.
"Nothing." said Harry quickly, "What were you saying?"
Stan shook his head, returning his gaze to the notecards in his hands.
""Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard," he repeated, "just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go -"
"Anywhere?"
"Yep," said Stan proudly, "anywhere you like, 'long it's on land. Can't do nuffink underwater."
"Right." said Harry, "How much would it be to get to London, then?"
"Eleven Sickles." said Stan, "But for firteen you get 'ot chocolate, and for fifteen you get an 'otwater bottle an' a toofbrush in the color of your choice."
Harry removed a handful of coins from his trunk, handed them to Stan, and clambered into the bus.
-(xXx)-
"Leaky Cauldron!"
Harry closed his eyes as the bus came to a sudden stop, sighing in relief. Stars danced before his eyes, and Harry pressed a finger against his forehead, doing his best to calm the dull, aching pain.
I'm never getting on this thing again.
Harry opened his eyes, gazing at his reflection in the window opposite him. Untidy dark hair accompanied circular frames of a similar colour. Emerald eyes sat beneath them. They shined slightly, even in the absence of light. Harry stared at the window, watching the faint glow with wonder. It was hard to notice - Harry had to squint to see it - but it was certainly there.
I never noticed that.
The girl in his mind grew, her hazel eyes burning scarlet. They glowed far brighter than Harry's. A soft smile overcame her features. Harry forced her aside, his thoughts shifting to the man with the long, silvery beard and the half-moon spectacles. His twinkling blue eyes shined like the stars in the night sky.
"Blimey! Ern, it's Fudge! Minister Fudge! What's 'e doin 'ere?"
The colour in his reflection's face drained. Harry looked through the window, his eyes landing upon the small, shabby shop that was the Leaky Cauldron. The outline of a rather familiar man stood just before the entrance. Harry could just barely make out the lime bowler hat that sat atop the man's head.
And I'm fucked.
For the second time since getting on the Knight Bus, Harry felt very sick. He nervously stood from his seat, dragging his trunk behind him as he got down from the bus. The cold evening air washed over him as he stepped onto the pavement. Harry shivered.
"There you are, Harry." said the man with the bowler hat. He was a portly man, one with greying hair and one adorned in a long, pinstriped cloak, "We'd thought we'd lost you. Come in, it's warmer inside."
Harry paused uncertainty. Confusion clouded his mind, but a touch of Occlumency cleared it again. Slowly he followed after Minister Fudge, the screeching sound of the Knight Bus zooming off still echoing in his ears.
"You've got him, Minister!" said a man from behind a bar - Tom, the owner of the Leaky Cauldron, "Will you be wanting anything?"
"Perhaps a pot of tea," requested Fudge, "A bit of sugar, please."
Tom nodded, lifting a kettle from behind the bar and leading them down a rather narrow passage. As they reached the end Tom creaked a door open, revealing a small, homely parlor. Gently the barman tapped the wall with his wand before departing. Harry watched as the entire room seemingly roared to life.
"Sit down, Harry." said Fudge, indicating a chair by the fire. Harry did so, watching as the man tiredly shrugged off his oversized cloak.
"Now, to business," began Fudge, taking a seat opposite him, "I am Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, but I'm sure you already know that - we've met before, after all."
Harry nodded slowly.
Twice, actually. Not that he knows it.
"You gave us all quite a fright." Fudge said, pouring himself a cup of tea, "Running away from you aunt and uncle's house like that! I'd started to think . . . but you're safe, and that's what matters."
Fudge buttered himself a crumpet and pushed the plate toward Harry.
"Eat, Harry, you look dead on your feet. Now then . . . you'll be pleased to hear that we have dealt with the unfortunate blowing-up of Miss Marjorie Dursley. Six members of the Accidental Magic Reversal Department were dispatched to Privet Drive a few hours ago after receiving an anonymous tip-off. Miss Dursley has been punctured and her memory has been modified. She has no recollection of the incident at all, and neither do any of the other muggles that saw her floating about. So that's that, and no harm done."
Fudge smiled at Harry over the rim of his teacup, rather like an uncle surveying a favorite nephew. Harry, who couldn't believe his ears, opened his mouth to speak, couldn't think of anything to say, and closed it again.
"Ah, you're worrying about the reaction of your aunt and uncle?" said Fudge, "Well, I won't deny that they are extremely angry, Harry, but they are prepared to take you back next summer as long as you stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas and Easter holidays."
Harry nodded slowly, his eyebrows slightly raised.
Like I'd have considered staying at Privet Drive for the holidays.
"So all that remains," said Fudge, now buttering himself a second crumpet, "is to decide where you're going to spend the last two weeks of your vacation. I suggest you take a room here at the Leaky Cauldron - I've already asked Tom to prepare a room for you."
Fudge leaned forward, handing Harry an oddly shaped brass key with the number seven stamped on it. Harry took it from the man, rolling it over in his palm.
"Go and settle down, Harry." Fudge suggested, standing up once more as he popped the last of his crumpet into his mouth. He swallowed it whole before he continued to speak, "You could certainly do with a bit of rest."
Harry slowly rose from his seat, his fingers wrapping around the handle of his trunk. He made his may towards the door before pausing.
"Er - sir?"
"Yes, Harry?"
"Isn't there supposed to be some sort of consequence?" asked Harry uncertainty, "Not that I want to be punished or anything, but -"
Fudge chuckled heartily.
"Oh, my dear boy, we're not going to punish you for a little thing like that!" he said merrily, "It was an accident! We don't send people to Azkaban just for blowing up their aunts!"
Harry frowned slightly, his fingers running against the cold brass door handle.
They don't know about the other bits.
The image of Aunt Petunia's cracked tiles swam before the eye of his mind, accompanied by the flickering lights. A curious thought entered Harry's mind.
"Sir, could I ask you something?"
"Of course, Harry." said Fudge, straightening up, "What is it?"
"Last year, I got an official warning just because a house-elf levitated a pudding in my Aunt and Uncle's house." said Harry, "Why did I get the letter? It wasn't exactly my fault, was it?
Cornelius Fudge frowned, his fingers pressing against the bottom of his chin. A thoughtful gleam hovered in his eyes.
"I might have an idea." he admitted, "I can't say it's my area of expertise, Harry.
"But," he continued, taking another sip of tea, "I know the basics - I've got to, being the Minister of Magic and all. You see, Harry, we - that is to say, the Ministry of Magic - can track magic performed by a wand and House Elves - or, at least, that magic of such nature was performed in a certain area. Magic performed through mediums, I mean."
Harry frowned.
"House Elves work like wands, Harry." Fudge explained, "They channel their magic through the wills of their masters. It's why House Elves have a much harder time using magic when they're on their own, or when they disobey their masters. Either way, if magic is channeled through something - be it a wand, a staff, a ring or even an elf - we'll know where it happened."
"What about wandless magic, then?" Harry tried his hardest not to lean in, pressing his back against the mahogany door, "You can't track that, can you?"
"No, we can't." said Fudge, sighing, "There's a magical explanation, I'm sure - Amelia knows all about it, no doubt - but no, we can't.
"Thankfully, it isn't much of a problem here." continued Fudge, "It's a whole 'nother story in central Africa - they don't use wands there. Only wandless magic. They can't do much with it, of course, and they couldn't so much as use a wand if they tried - but it's still an absolute nightmare. I pity the African Ministry. And people wonder why there's all that talk of witchcraft going around muggle Africa . . ."
"But it isn't a problem here?"
"No, it isn't." agreed Fudge, "Like I said, most people only know how to use magic with a wand or without it. There's only one person I know who's mastered both."
"Dumbledore?"
Fudge nodded.
"But don't you worry about that." he said, pouring himself another cup of tea, "You aren't in trouble for what happened to your Aunt - accidental magic isn't anything new. Just get to bed, Harry, and sleep well."
Harry nodded, slowly closing the door shut behind him.
