My apologies for how long it's been since I last posted. Life has very much happened. I've been sitting on this for a while but finally decided to post it.
Dedicated to H
1951 - 2024
Harry Potter is owned by J K Rowling.
Chapter 5
"…ickkle little sleepy head, waking from his dreams…"
Harry cringed at the sickly-sweet baby voice even as he tried to drag himself out of the mental fog that still tried to overwhelm him.
Blinking, and rubbing the crust from his eyes he found himself slumped on cold and dusty flagstones, surrounded by robed figures, all of them pointing their wands at him. Beyond them…Harry blinked, where the hell was he?
The corridor was long and featureless, with just a door at the end. Hairs prickling at the back of his neck, mental feathers rising, his instincts screamed at him to run…run and hide.
"Up Potter," a rough voice demanded, and Harry glanced up into the mask of a Death Eater.
Well…crap. Clearly the day was not getting any better.
Unsteadily he clambered to his feet.
"You'll do as you're told, boy," Rough-Voice demanded, jabbing the tip of his wand into the flesh under Harry's jaw. "In fact you're going to help us to retrieve something. Get moving."
The Death Eaters parted, and he was shoved towards that door, dread growing with every step.
Whatever it was he expected to find on the other side, it wasn't the soft silence and the rows of shelving that marched into the distance of this vast hall. Craning his neck subtly, or so he thought, earned him another jab in the jaw, and a view of the multitudes of mist filled globes that filled the shelves as far as the eye could see, their soft glow the only illumination that he could see.
"Which one is it?" one of the Death Eaters demanded causing a little wave of discontented grumbling to break out.
"Just along here," a smooth, cultured voice broke through the impending argument. The owner of the voice stepped forward in the direction he had indicated, and Harry squinted at him suspiciously. This one's robes seemed a lot nicer than the others', and there was a lock of blonde hair peeking out from around his mask.
Was this Lucius Malfoy? Harry blinked in surprise, watching the man carefully as he was half dragged, half pushed along by the group.
Possibly-Malfoy Senior turned down a row; a brass plaque proclaimed "97" Harry caught a glimpse as he was roughly shoved past, the shelves of softly glowing globes towering above him, stretching off into the distance. Each globe, he saw, was nestled in its own little wooden holder, identified by a small parchment label.
He tried to read them as he was dragged past, catching fragments of curling script, all of it frustratingly cryptic, until he walked into one of the Death Eaters. He was roughly spun round and shoved at the shelves, nearly stumbling into them before he managed to catch himself.
He almost fell over when the strange group came to a sudden halt.
"Pick it up boy," Rough-Voice demanded, shoving him towards the shelves.
"What? Harry stared at him uncomprehendingly.
"The prophecy-globe," Rough-Voice growled, "Pick it up. Do you think we've hit him in the head too hard or something?"
Which one?
"Just pick it up you moron," one of the looming Death Eaters snarled.
Harry glanced around at the shelving with their softly glowing globes, but then one of the labels caught his attention…
S.P.T to A.P.W.B.D
Dark Lord
and (?) Harry Potter
His name…why would this thing have his name on it? Hesitantly he put his hand out, expecting the globe to be icy cold in his hand, but it was surprisingly warm, pleasant even, in the chill of the Hall.
"Hand it over boy," Rough-Voice demanded, but Harry slipped the globe into his jeans pocket, hoping against hope that the delicate glass didn't break.
In the space of a breath his form dissolved and shifted leaving Quill to leap, screeching, at the shocked Death Eaters, his claws ripping through cheap fabric and into flesh with ease, the air filling with a cacophony of screaming and swearing.
Running as hard as he could, fear and adrenaline driving him on, he raced around the corner into the next aisle and scrambled up the shelving.
oOoOoOoOoOoOo
Nibbling gently at an itch Quill considered his current situation. He'd been in worse ones he was sure, though none were coming to mind currently.
So…he'd been kidnapped, by the usual suspects of course, dragged to a strange and unfamiliar place, and forced to pick up a potentially hazardous object. So far, so normal
He'd managed the tricky part of getting away from the Death Eaters without major damage to himself, but now they'd split up in an effort to find him again. He was certain some of them had gone back through the door that led into the featureless corridor, and then to who knew where…
Which led him to his main problem, figuring out where he was, and then getting back to Hogwarts before Snape found out he'd left the Castle; because of course the miserable git would see this as a golden opportunity to give him detention for the entirety of next year, or something.
Below, one of the Death Eaters turned the corner and began making his way down the aisle of shelving, muttering heavily under his breath. His breathing was loud and wet, as he shuffled noisily along definitely favouring one leg, his wand drawn at the ready, twitching at some imagined motion in the gloom.
The tang of blood became stronger as the Death Eater limped closer. Quill blinked, watching him with interest, noting the small trail of blood the injured man was leaving behind. Easy pickings, his instincts suggested. Interested, he began to trail the wounded prey.
The Death Eater startled at some imagined movement, swearing horribly under his breath as he sent a lurid yellow curse into a row of shelving which exploded, sending glass shard tinkling to the floor.
Ghostly images rose up from the carnage, whispering their messages into the cool air of the hall…
…he will return at the full of the moon…
…a child of woe…
…when the two towers…
Quill leapt, wing-arms spread as he slammed into the Death Eater's back, his hind talons easily ripping through the man's cheap robes, digging into the flesh below, snagging on ribs, even as his jaws clamped down on the man's neck, his mouth flooding with blood.
Beneath him the Death Eater gurgled, his struggles slowly fading away until he lay still, blood pooling around his head and neck.
Was it food?
He gave the corpse a sniff, taking in the appetizing scent of free meat, wrestling with the desire to tear into that soft juicy belly. Except…a more rational human part of his mind was trying to get his attention, and…didn't Aunt Petunia have a thing about food being on the floor for more than nine seconds?
Yeah, that's right, he blinked slowly, there'd been that time that Dudley had eaten a chicken nugget that had fallen on the floor, and Aunt Petunia had screamed the place down. It had been one of the few times she ever really shouted at Dudley, ever.
Regretfully Quill left the corpse, shaking himself and listening carefully, it seemed he hadn't attracted any attention. Relieved he clambered back up among the shelves.
Leaping from one towering stack of shelves to the next he easily made it back to the corridor, occasionally catching a glimpse of a bobbing light as a Death Eater hunted for him in the chilly gloom.
The corridor was horrible, blank and featureless, with absolutely nowhere for him to hide. Instincts screaming at him he scurried along to the only other door, only to find himself in a circular room, just as painfully empty as that corridor.
And even worse, as soon as he stepped through it, the door closed behind him, leaving him stranded, looking at a dozen identical doors with nothing to tell him which one he'd just come through.
To his frantic horror, as soon as he scuttled closer to the centre of this new space, the entire room began to spin, a dizzying blurring whir as the torch-light stretched out into a continuous dazzling streak, before coming to an abrupt halt.
Feathers prickling and rustling with his distress Quill scuttled across the room trying to see it all at once. He needed to pick a door, any door would do.
The handle wrenched away from his hand-paw just as he reached for it, revealing a startled very startled Death Eater, Growly-Voice if the swearing was anything to go by.
Before the man could even think to bring his wand up Quill leapt, talons scraping down the man's chest as he attempted to get his teeth around the Death Eater's throat. As they fell back into this new room the door clicked shut behind them plunging them into darkness.
A frantic battle ensured as Quill fought for the upper hand against the much larger man, desperately trying to rip at his throat, clawing and tearing and biting at whatever he could.
He wrenched himself away, scurrying away, unsure of where the exit was exactly but certain he was more or less heading in the right direction.
Instead he tumbled down what felt like very steep stairs. Picking himself up, he froze, listening carefully.
He could hear moaning and swearing as the Death Eater came closer. There was a crashing, thudding and a high pitched scream as the man fell past him in a flurry of limbs and tangling robes. Somewhere below he came to a groaning stop at what must be the bottom.
But they weren't really stairs, Quill cocked his head, looking round curiously as his eyes adjusted to the low light.
It was like an amphitheatre, he was certain. He'd seen a picture of the ruins of one once in a holiday brochure Aunt Petunia had left lying around just so her "friends" could see. Of course the Dursleys had gone to one when they'd once gone on a week long Mediterranean cruise, with much fanfare to the neighbours of course. Typically he'd been dumped at Mrs Figg's.
Though when they came back, Uncle Vernon had done nothing but moan about foreigners, the food, the weather, foreigners…and Dudley had had the most horrific sun-burn, burnt to a scarlet, blistered, peeling crisp. They'd never done it again.
Maybe one day he could go and see ancient ruins himself. Probably more interesting if you were a wizard too, he thought of the Weasley's and their Egyptian trip several years ago now as he hopped down to the next row of what he knew now to be seats.
The Death Eater was lying at the bottom on a tangled groaning heap, but he ignored him, stepping round him, because what stood beyond was…
He hopped closer, taking in the strange spectacle.
The stones that formed the crude arch had been worn and pockmarked by centuries of exposure to the elements and, when Quill angled his head and squinted a little, he was certain he could see faint traces of stylised images, symbols maybe. Though what they had once been he couldn't quite discern.
Clearly, at some point, it had been moved here to its current location where it looked incongruous, surrounded as it was by the mathematical precision of the amphitheatre.
Hanging in the arch itself was the grey and filmy remains of a curtain that drifted lightly on a breeze, but, Quill cocked his head, there was no breeze. None that he could detect anyway.
The back of his neck prickling in discomfort, he hopped closer, turning his head from side to side, because he could hear something even if he couldn't feel it. The closer he got the more it sounded like voices, just on the edge of hearing. He couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but if he edged closer…
"You little bastard," an extremely unwelcome voice growled behind him.
Quill jerked, his concentration broken. Shocked, he scuttled back. How had he got so close to the arch? His nose had been practically touching the tattered curtain.
Swinging round he found Growly-Voice had managed to clamber to his feet and was now staggering towards him. Not only had he not lost his wand during his fall, he was beyond fury, his eyes gleaming with murderous rage behind his blood stained mask.
Trapped out in the open, driven by instinct, Quill responded in the only way he could.
Tail standing straight up shivering threateningly, feathers fluffed out, he raised his wing-arms displaying his claws menacingly as he hissed, snarled and screamed, displaying his rows of sharp teeth.
Growly-Voice actually faltered a moment, but then he snarled, lunging forward in a tackle, wand forgotten.
Quill dodged, turning quickly enough to see Growly-Voice disappear through the arch with a surprised gasp.
Was he going to reappear? Quill trotted round the arch, ready to fight if he had to. But there was no sign of the Death Eater.
The arch looked as it had before, utterly unmoved, its tatty curtain shifting in an invisible breeze full of whispers.
Neck crawling, feeling as if he were being watched, Quill backed away, scuttling back up the steps of the amphitheatre, determined to never set foot in this room again.
OooOoOoOoOoOo
The chocolate frog was slightly squashed, twitching feebly in his hand, its legs too misshapen to manage a good jump. Still tasted good though, he thought as he bit its head off.
In the distance he could hear frustrated shouting as the hunt for him continued.
Why did they want the glass globe thing anyway? He'd fished it out of his pocket to have a closer look, but it seemed quite inert, even when he gave it a good shake, sending the smoke inside swirling.
It was tempting to leave the little glass globe here in this tiny dark corner he had found, but something told him that it probably wasn't a good idea to leave it, whatever it was, unattended. Back in the pocket it went.
A Death Eater stuck their head around the door of the office he was currently hiding in, and he went still, trying to pretend he was no more interesting than a moss covered tree trunk, surrounded though he was with dusty boxes filled with old paperwork on top of a large cabinet, in the darkest corner he could find.
It was amazing how people never look up.
Idly he examined the chocolate frog card, and it was…oooh, Agrippa. Wasn't that one of the ones Ron had been looking for, for ages? He carefully stowed it away in a pocket, because hopefully he was going to get out of here and be able to place it into Ron's hands.
Changing form he scrambled down and sidled over to the office door ready to run/hide/attack at the slightest hint of Death Eater, but the coast seemed to be clear.
The room he found himself in was beyond fascinating, and under different circumstances he would have enjoyed taking his time to examining the multitude of clocks that covered every surface and filled the walls, filling the air with the sound of their ticking.
But even more intriguing was a large bell-jar standing on a desk near the back. It was filled with a glittering wind that sent motes of light dancing around the room.
Caught up in the strange magical wind was an object. Quill watched in fascination as a tiny egg hatched, the hummingbird growing to maturity as it rose with the magical wind, iridescent blue plumage shimmering in the strange light, before it sank once again, becoming a tiny pink hatchling once more, until finally its egg formed around it once more, only for the whole process to repeat itself, for ever as far as Quill could tell.
Beyond the bell-jar and its infinite hummingbird was a towering glass-fronted cabinet filled with time-turners, of all shapes and sizes. Curious Quill hopped closer. Was this where Hermione's had come from?
Sudden voices sent him scuttling for the relative shadows under the desk, his human awareness crashing into his more feathered instincts as he suddenly realised just how familiar those voices were.
Peeking out from his hiding spot he blinked in surprise as he took in Ron and Hermione, and then Neville and Ginny, and even Luna, looking around the room, all of them sporting injuries of some kind, all of them with their wands drawn, looking scared and out of their depth.
Shifting, he crawled out from under the desk.
"Hey guys," he said, "what are you doing hmmm…" he suddenly found himself unable to breath as Hermione clamped her arms around him in a bear-hug, her hair obscuring his vision completely.
"We were so worried about you," she said when he finally succeeded in peeling her off. "After you were...after you were kidnapped, nobody had any idea where you could have been taken...and then…"
"We overheard Snape and Dumbledore talking," Ron butted in, wincing as he shifted uncomfortably on his right leg. "They seemed to think there was some chance you'd been brought here...and if that were so, well...we were going to do something about it, so..."
"We came to rescue you," Neville blurted out, looking uncharacteristically determined.
Ginny nodded her agreement, "glad we took the floo though."
"Yeah," Ron muttered, "better than flying Thestrals here."
"So...where are we?" Harry looked round the sea of puzzled faces. "I was unconscious when I arrived here...so I'm not entirely sure where here is?" he explained.
"Oh, er...we're at the Ministry," Ron said.
"Really?" Harry scratched his head, puzzled.
"Yeah," Ginny added, "the Department of Mysteries to be exact."
Behind her Luna, who had been looking around vaguely as of she were contemplating lunch in the Great Hall, let out a loud croak, diving out of the way of a mustard yellow curse that splashed against the stone pavers of the floor, causing them to hiss and bubble.
The others scrambled to get to some sort of cover, as the Death Eater continued to sling hexes and curses at them, heedless of the destruction shouting to one another, yelling at him to get behind something, as around them smashing glass and clock parts rained down…
But he was already moving. Changing as he ran, Quill leapt at the Death Eater with an angry shriek, wing-arms extended.
He slammed into the man, sending him sprawling as his hind claws dug deep into soft belly, tearing through light robes into the vulnerable flesh beneath.
The man screamed, frothy red bubbles forcing their way through the mouth-hole of his mask, twitching fitfully until finally he went still.
"H...Harry?" Ron's voice broke the stunned silence.
Quill/Harry shifted back, before he could give in to his instincts and tried eating the rapidly cooling corpse. Would anyone notice if he had a little nibble around the edges? Probably not worth risking it.
His friends, to his puzzlement seemed frozen in shock, staring blankly at the deceased Death Eater now sprawled on the floor in a slowly expanding pool of blood, broken glass and smashed clocks.
"Guys, we need to get out of here," Harry said, trying to get their attention. "He's got friends, and they're looking for me, so maybe we could leave?"
Hermione jerked, blinking rapidly. "Yes...right, need to get out of here." She skirted past the corpse and its expanding blood pool, her face a funny grey colour.
The others reluctantly followed her, eyeing the corpse and Harry with equal wariness.
Harry just felt hungry.
Maybe they were scared of being too near his kill, Harry's instincts told him. It only made sense to be territorial over such a large kill, unless they were family...his thoughts trailed off in a confused tangle.
"You alright?" Ron asked. He looked concerned, despite how ashy pale he was.
"I think so," Harry tried a smile. Apparently it wasn't that reassuring.
oOo
"Can we get out of here? It's giving me the creeps."
Harry looked over to see Ron staring up at the gigantic model of the Solar System that hung above them.
Ron did have a point, he thought. Unfortunately, who ever had made this room had done a really good job of recreating the vastness of space, leaving him feeling really exposed.
The only good thing really was that it was fairly dark.
"As soon as we find the door," Hermione's voice sounded strained.
Unfortunately as soon as they had entered this giant model of the solar system the door had promptly disappeared, and they had been unable to find it, or any other exit for that matter.
At least there weren't any Death Eaters around.
Harry planted himself down on the floor, leaning back so he could admire the giant globe of Jupiter as it slowly spun overhead, ringed by bands of furious storms.
"It's really weird," he said to know one in particular, "why would they want a funny glass globe any way?"
"A glass globe?" Hermione scowled in thought, "what sort of glass globe? Maybe this is that secret weapon the Order was guarding all summer."
Fishing around in his pocket Harry pulled out the object, still miraculously unbroken, filled with swirling smoke that shed an eerie glow in the dark room.
"It's a prophecy globe," Ron, Neville and Luna all said together. Harry snorted in amusement.
"A prophecy?" he stared down at the small object. "Why would they be…"
The label on the edge of the shelf swam into focus from the depths of his memory.
"What do I do," he considered the globe, "do I tap it with my wand? Smash it?
"Err, I think you just tap…" Ron said, but Harry wasn't really listening, the delicate glass smashing into dust as he flung it at the floor.
From among the wreckage, the smoke slowly rose up, coalescing into the familiar figure of Sybil Trelawny, her large glasses glinting in unseen light.
"You've got to be kidding me," Harry watched the tiny figure as it began to growl…
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...
born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…
and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...
and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...
the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"
"My parents died because of this...rubbish…" Harry snarled, almost blind with fury.
"Shows how stupid Vol...You-Know-Who is, believing anything that fraud spouted," Ginny glared at the smoky figure in disgust as it slowly disintegrated.
"Yeah...yeah, it does, doesn't it…" Harry nodded as he got his emotions back under control. Voldermort was mad and bad and dangerous, but above all he was stupid. It was a cheering thought, in a way. Didn't change his ruined childhood, but still...
"Oh look guys, there's the door," he pointed to where a Death Eater was peering into the room, looking as startled to see them as they were to see him.
And then all hell broke loose.
Flashes of spell-light arced through the darkness of the planetarium room, because of course this Death Eater had brought friends. And of course there was absolutely no cover.
It didn't matter the sort of shielding and protective magic they had managed to teach themselves. Nothing they knew was up to dealing with the absolute barrage being flung at them by the Death Eater and his equally psychotic friends.
Swearing under his breath he switched from Harry to Quill, as behind him Hermione screamed. The model of Jupiter that had spun above their heads only moments before, came crashing down among them, showering them with slivers of glass.
Because of course it was made of glass, Quill grumbled to himself, trying to shake needle-like splinters from his feathers while dodging a nasty bilious yellow flash of magic that made the floor bubble and hiss.
Around him, his friends did their best to protect each other in the non-existent shelter, their shield charms inadequate blue flickers.
So this was it, the thought suddenly occurred to him as he ducked an unpleasantly familiar flash of green light. He was going to die here, and there was nothing he could do, nowhere to hide, too far away to make his attackers feel his pain…
Outside of the room was a sudden bang, followed by screaming and swearing abruptly cut off.
The Death Eaters who had been slowly advancing into the Planetarium, to finish them off, (and maybe eat them, the more primal part of Quill's mind suggested), stumbled to a halt, half turning in confusion to the commotion that was now occurring outside.
Before Quill could really take advantage he had to duck as a Death Eater was propelled above his head by some sort of blasting curse, crashing into the largest section of the downed Jupiter model with a nasty crash.
The person who came through the door next had Quill hurriedly changing back.
Tonks looked uncharacteristically grim, though she relaxed slightly when she spotted them.
"Wotcha you lot," her normally cheerful grin not quite reaching her eyes, though her red hair did begin to flush pink from the roots up, which had to be a good sign...didn't it?
Any cheerful thoughts he might have had disappeared quite abruptly though when he took in the state of his friends.
They all looked shaken, and bloody, covered in dust and fragments from the fallen Jupiter model. Neville and Ginny were helping a dazed Luna stand up; they were all covered in bleeding scratches, but were otherwise all right.
It was Hermione who had got the worst of it. There was what looked like an enormous sliver of glass sticking out of her abdomen. She was tugging in it in a futile attempt to remove the thing, but her fingers and the glass were too slippery with blood.
Ron hovered nearby, wringing his hands, face grey.
"Stop that," Tonks barked as she stormed over, glass crunching under her boots, "you'll just make things worse."
Harry watched in horrified fascination as Tonks weaved her wand around the protruding glass, muttering under her breath. "There," she sighed as the last of the conjured bandage tucked itself tightly in place. "That'll stop anything moving for the moment, but the sooner we get you to Madam Pomfrey the better."
Ron nodded mutely, too upset to speak.
Another flick of Tonk's wand and Hermione was gently floating towards the door as more members of the Order of the Pheonix crowded in. Harry only recognised a few, Shaklebolt looking particularly grim, Mad-Eye looking as creepy as ever, a witch he vaguely remembered leaving a meeting at Grimauld Place, Remus...and Sirius...what was Sirius doing here? The others...he had no idea…
A part of him began to relax, the adults were here, everything was going to be taken care of, sorted out. He could go home now, curl up in his nest and sleep without worrying about big scary predators and their large bone crunching teeth.
"Are you coming?" Ginny suddenly appeared at his side, shaking glass out of her clothing. He nodded mutely, following after the others as they followed Tonks and the floating Hermione out of the Planetarium and down a corridor to the Circular Room.
oOo
"Exit to the Ministry." Tonks snapped as she strode into the Circular Room, the others hurrying after her.
So that's how it worked, Harry's stomach lurched as the room spun into a dizzying blur around him, the torches smearing blue once more. It was to his intense relief when it finally lurched to a halt, one of the doors popping open revealing a surprisingly familiar corridor. When had he seen that before?
"Come on Harry," Ron had grabbed his elbow to get him moving again.
Predictably, just as they were about to make it into the Minstry proper, Death Eaters began pouring out of one of the other doors, flinging hexes and curses at them with increasing accuracy.
Ignoring Ron's protests, Harry shoved him through the door. It snapped shut with finger breaking speed, the room once again lurching into stomach churning motion.
It did have the positive benefit of throwing the Death Eaters' aim off. As soon as the movement stopped, he yanked a door aim at random, changing as he leapt through.
Straight into the Clock Room again, and several startled Death Eaters, he sprinted past them, through some offices, into the Spinning Room again where the Death Eaters, who were still there, promptly throwing curses at him yet again.
Another door led him into a kind of workshop some half finished project sitting on a bench, through another door into a room full of cases filled with jars of preserved creatures, most of which Quill had never seen before, (Luna would have a field day in here), back into the Spinning Room and the now swearing Death Eaters, into that long corridor that led back to the Hall of Prophecy, into a sort of records room full of index-card cabinets.
Out into the Spinning Room once again, much to his absolute frustration the Death Eaters were still there. Did they not have anything better to do, into the Amphitheatre Room, where he nearly fell down the steps again, but had his fall handily broken by the body of a fallen Death Eater.
Because in here there was something of a pitched battle going on between the remaining Death Eaters and the newly arrived members of the Order.
Turning, he made to leave, only to back away as more Death Eaters tumbled through the door, (Where were they coming from? Were they just cloning themselves or something? It made no sense), followed by Voldermort himself, looking sicker, madder, and more inhuman than he remembered.
But trailing behind the madman was...Pettigrew. Wormtail, he hissed, fury and an indescribable urge to rend and tear rising in his throat. Prey his instincts demanded.
That was when he had the most marvellous idea. He could catch the rat-man, main or kill him, probably didn't matter which, and then leave him somewhere, very visible, in the Ministry with his dark-mark on full display. It was a fantastic plan, a brilliant way to say thank-you to Sirius for the best-Xmas-gift-ever.
Baring his teeth in a predatory smile Quill began the hunt.
Slipping among the fighters, he shadowed the rat-man as closely as he could, nipping, biting and clawing at any Death Eaters who got too close, but the fighting was too thick, too fierce for him to get close enough to sink his teeth into the rat-man.
The rat-man was staying as close to Voldermort as he physically could, so close he might as well have been inside the mad-man's robes. And of course the mad-man was at the centre of the maelstrom of fighting.
So intense was the violence, Quill found himself swept up in it, further down into the amphitheatre, the stone arch looming above the fighters, dark and sinister and silent.
To Quill's growing horror, it was almost as if he was being drawn towards the arch, the fighting unconsciously bringing him ever closer to its frayed curtain, drifting on an invisible breeze, and whatever lay beyond.
Certain he didn't want to find out he scrabbled away, darting around an Order member and a Death Eater who seemed to have forgotten their wands as they rolled around on the ground attempting to strangle one another with their bare hands.
Which was when some absolute plonker stepped back and stood on his paw. Shrieking in frightened anger he sunk his teeth into the Death Eater's buttock, shredding as much of their leg with his claws as he could reach.
As he tore himself away from the paw-crushing monster he heard the most incongruous sound possible, howls of laughter.
To Quill's puzzlement Sirius was bent double with laughter, and not far away Bellatrix stood, her mask slipped up on her head to reveal a spiteful grin as she pointed at the object of their amusement.
The Death Eater who he'd just mauled, who'd stood on his paw, was staggering away, white-blonde hair sticking out from around his hood and mask, blood dripping behind him as he attempted to get away from the fighting, even as he wavered on his feet.
Predictably his foot caught on the body of a fallen fighter, and Malfoy fell in an undignified heap, howling with pain, because who else could it be with that distinctive hair.
Bellatrix screamed with laughter, Sirius almost sobbing as he pounded his leg. And then they noticed the other, their amusement falling away as they glared hatefully at one another.
There was nothing quite like family, was there? Quill mused as he watched the two begin trading curses and insults back and forth.
Increasingly frustrated and fed-up Quill found himself swept up in fighting again, even as he tried to avoid attention and keep an eye on the rat-man's location. But the rat-man was being uncooperative, sticking close to Voldemort's side.
The surge of the fighting carried him round until he was near Sirius again, who to his horror was far too close to the looming arch, his back almost brushing the trailing curtain.
He was too busy taunting his cousin into a screaming, mouth frothing fury to notice the danger he was currently in, swatting away her curses and hexes as he laughed and jeered at her.
Until to Quill's absolute horror, one slipped through his defence, a look of intense surprise crossing Sirius's face as the curse slammed into his chest.
Quill didn't even think, leaping instinctively, his whole body weight slamming into Sirius's side, even as he began to crumple backwards towards the arch.
They landed heavily in a tangled heap, Sirius coughing and shaking as he lay on the floor suffering through the effects of his cousin's magic.
Fury rising, Quill pulled himself to his feet, hissing nastily as he stalked on all four paws towards the murderous bitch. She was going to die, he was going to make absolutely certain of it.
She was backing away now, fear glinting in her eyes.
He leapt, clawing up her front as his teeth fastened around her throat, crushing it in a gush of blood and torn flesh, her scream abruptly cut off into a wet gurgle.
It was all too much, these last few hours, being kidnapped, chased, seeing his friends getting hurt…being chased again...
He'd had enough.
He wanted to go home, curl up on his bed in the dorms and sleep for an eternity.
But first he had to deal with the Rat-Man…
Slinking forward on all four paws, he made his way closer to the epicentre of the fighting, clawing and biting anything that got in his way, focused utterly on the Rat-Man and being his impending doom.
He was so close now, he could smell the disgusting man's body odour, and his anxiety.
Hissing in anticipation he stalked closer, darting between the swirling fighters to stay in the Rat-Man's blind spot. So close now, he could almost taste the blood…
A surge of red-robed people spilled into the room, the fighting intensifying, shifting and swirling as it moved to accommodate the combatants. They seemed determined to take everybody down, but were mainly concentrating on the Death Eaters.
Were these...Aurors?
It was times like these which drove home just how little he knew about the Wizarding World, just how ignorant he truly he was. It was more than a little frustrating.
Dumbledore was with these new fighters as well now, looking particularly grim and serious.
At the sight of him most of the Death Eaters seemed to panic. Considering the Headmaster's age, he'd probably taught most of them, or been headmaster when they were at Hogwarts. Maybe they were scared he was going to take points.
Unfortunately this seemed to include Voldemort, who was now fighting his way towards the door, followed, much to Quill's frustration by the Rat-Man. As they pushed their way through the heaving, fighting crowd there were shouts of horror from many of the red-robed people as they suddenly found themselves fighting for their lives with the Dark Lord himself
Quill had no time for them, as he slipped past, determined to keep the man in his sight.
The Spinning Room was as terrible as ever, and then they were finally sprinting down a stone-lined corridor, ever-burning tourches in little niches along the walls, into a new area…
"Oh," Quill croaked as he stared round at the surprisingly familiar doors. He was certain that if he went through he would be faced with the old court room where he'd been put on trial over the summer. It seemed like a life-time ago now, and so ridiculously over the top, Had he really been put on trial in front of the entire Wizengamot? Weird.
He was just in time to see Voldemort's tatty robes whisk round the corner leading to stairs he hadn't been aware of the existence of, though he could have just followed his ears. Wormtail was making so much noise, his breathing sounding like a dying steam train as he tried to keep up with his master.
It saved getting stuck in a lift with the pair. Just the thought of the three of them stood, awkwardly trapped in a lift while tinny pseudo-music played had him chittering with amusement as he gave chase.
The stairs were wonderful, a welcome change from the labyrinth of rooms he'd previously been trapped in, and his mood continued to lift as he bounced upwards, following the scents of not-quite-dead-snake-man and body-odour-rat-man.
He slowed to a cautious skitter as the scent of stale sweat, old unwashed socks and rat became almost over-powering. There round the dog-leg of the stairs was Wormtail. The man was leaning against the wall, almost bent double as he clutched his chest, ratty face red and sweaty, strands of his thinning hair had drifted down and stuck to his forehead.
Silently, slowly, Quill crept forward, slinking low to the ground, his attention narrowed down to an intense focus.
Rat-Man's nose was twitching frantically now, his head beginning to turn as Quill leapt, talons raking down the small man's back.
Scrabbling, Quill hung on as best he could as Wormtail screamed and thrashed, biting everything he could reach.
He barely noticed as they crashed to the floor in a screaming, writhing heap, man and what-ever-he-was locked in a desperate fight for dominance. Until, very abruptly, there was a battered looking rat underneath him, desperately trying to drag itself away, squeaking in distress.
Instincts kicking in Quill pounced, his talons narrowly missing punching a hole in the rodent's head. And then he was abruptly sitting on top of a balding, sweaty middle-aged man, who sobbed and struggled under his weight.
With great care he bit through the back of Wormtail's neck, bone crunching and shifting under his teeth. The rat-man began to shudder and foam at the mouth.
Quill shook his feathers back into some semblance of order; and now for the next part of his plan, displaying the body.
He really wanted the rat-man somewhere a lot more visible, somewhere lots of people would see him, where his corpse couldn't just conveniently disappear.
Risking it he changed back. Grabbing the man's ankles he managed to drag him as far as the next flight of steps. Typically the rat-man was far heavier than he looked, and, he gave the stairs an evil glare, he still had no idea how far he had to go still to get to the main entrance.
His dreams of displaying Wormtail, propped up by the ugly fountain of Magical Brethren were fast slipping away…
"Harry," Sirius's voice came from behind him. He turned to find his Godfather staring at the sprawled corpse of Wormtail that lay on the floor between them. "You got him," he breathed, eyes blazing with emotion.
"Least I could do," Harry shrugged, "since you gave me the best Christmas gift ever...I'm just a bit stuck getting him up the...hmmff." Harry struggled a moment but there was no escaping the crushing hug Sirius had wrapped him in.
"I'll help," Sirius said. "With whatever it was you were planning...if that's okay?"
"Course it is," Harry gave him a crooked smile.
oOo
"What the…" Harry breathed as he glanced round the corner into the Entrance Hall proper. He quickly jerked his head back as a torrent of debris filled water flashed by.
As it disappeared the Entrance Hall came into view, what was left of it.
Parts of the decorative ceiling lay shattered on the floor, the walls were pockmarked and scorched, several of the lifts had been turned into burnt out ruins, their lattice screens lying in a twisted heap among the rubble. The wand-weighing desk had been bisected, and the fountain…
Harry gave the heap of rubble a mournful look. All that was left were shorn off legs sticking out of a pile of unidentifiable rubble, random jets of water still squirting out here and there. The house-elf's head had rolled off across the floor, staring gormlessly out at the carnage.
Now what was he going to do?
A damp cold nose pressed against the back of his neck and he nearly fell backwards in shock. Twisting he glared at the large shaggy dog that stood there jaw hanging open in a doggy grin.
"Yeah, very funny Padfoot," Harry muttered as the dog padded past him, taking in the chaos and destruction for a moment. And then his godfather slipped round the corner, heedless of the danger.
Exasperated Harry followed as best he could, ducking down and half jogging among the rubble.
The fallen stones of the roof became lava, suddenly morphing onto thousands of birds that threw themselves at one another with angry squawks, disintegrating into a torrent of water that rushed past picking up and throwing around the broken debris of the Entrance Hall.
Padfoot came to a halt by the shattered wand-weighing desk, turning to give him a triumphant look, because there beyond the pile of splintered wood stood a wooden chair, somehow unscathed.
He pulled the shrunken Pettigrew out of his pocket, and they set to, Sirius shifting so he help enlarging and arranging the dead man on the chair, as behind them powerful magics were flung around.
They ripped the rat-man's sleeves off so there could be no deny the dark-mark that stood out livid on his fore-arm, and checked for his wand. And then…
"Just a little finishing touch,"Sirius's grin had a nasty edge to it as he reached forward, undoing Pettigrew's trouser fly so his grubby underpants were on display. "Now it's perfect," Sirius gave him a smug look.
Harry could only shake his head sadly. "I wonder who needs adult supervision here…"
He suddenly found himself abruptly yanked backwards, Sirius staring at him in horror as he found himself being dragged, very uncomfortably, over the debris that littered the floor.
On instinct he changed form as he slammed into something tall and solid. Unfortunately it turned out to be a very angry Voldemort.
So Quill bit him.
Summoning all his strength he fastened himself to the Dark Lord's wand arm, hanging on with teeth and claw as the man tried to shake him loose, thrashing him around as he shouted and swore.
Until the Dark Lord resorted to punching him in the head, hard, repeatedly. It was only when a stray knuckle caught him in the eye that he finally let go, shrieking in pain as he hit the floor, eye stinging.
As he lay in a dazed heap he could see Voldermort stumble back clutching his damaged arm to his chest. There was a satisfying amount blood splashed around and dripping to the floor as well, the smell of wet iron permeating the air…
But then there were more Aurors suddenly flooding into the Entrance Hall...and Amelia Bones seemed to be with them...and the Minister for Magic...when had they arrived?
There was lots of horrified shouting and confusion, and more magic thrown around as he lay dazed on the floor…
The very unwelcome feeling of a portkey tugged him away, dumping him unceremoniously on a hard surface somewhere nice and quiet and calm.
Groaning Quill untangled himself before he could get attacked again, only to find he was currently standing on the Headmaster's desk along with the decapitated house-elf head.
Ah...could be worse he supposed as he shook him self off and set about having a good groom.
"What in Merlin's name is that?" a female voice demanded.
Startled, Quill glanced up, only to find every single one of the Headteacher portraits wide awake and staring at him intently.
Feeling a little self conscious he shifted leaving him crouching awkwardly on the desk.
"Err...hi," he smiled awkwardly as he tried to clamber down without falling on his face. The portraits glared down at him utterly unimpressed.
"Er...you wouldn't happen to know if my friends are okay, would you?" he asked, anxiety beginning to claw through his bone deep exhaustion.
"There were a group of students escorted into the Infirmary but an hour earlier," a severe witch in lime green robes gave him a particularly disapproving look. "They were being escorted by a young Auror with the most unprofessional hair colour I have ever seen..."
Harry slumped in relief as the portrait's complaint washed over him, his exhaustion finally starting to get the better of him. His friends were safe now, he was safe, Sirius was sort of an adult and could look after himself. There was nothing else he could do about the situation, so why worry?
Shifting, Quill curled up on one of the squashy armchairs, finally giving in to the need for sleep.
oOo
Someone or something was grooming him, Quill noticed as he slowly drifted awake, a heavy someone who was cuddled up to his side. It felt amazing, utterly heavenly; he crooked his neck to allow better access to a particularly itchy spot. The groomer took the hint and, shifting their attentions, and Quill melted in bliss.
"Mr Potter."
Quill cracked an eye open to find the Headmaster watching him carefully from across his desk, the house-elf now staring smarmly into the distance from the top of a pile of papers, and Fawkes sitting almost on top of him, running one of his feathers through its beak.
This was probably the most attention Dumbledore had given him since the horrible mess at the end of last year. He wasn't sure he even cared any more. Before Christmas he would have leapt at the chance of the Headmaster talking to him, if for nothing else but to shout at him, but now…he turned his attention back to Fawkes as the phoenix nibbled in just the right place.
"If you could change form Mr Potter I would be most appreciative."
Huffing in annoyance he shifted, landing up sitting in the squashy chair with Fawkes draped across his lap. The phoenix tilted its head staring intently at him, and Harry obliged, gently scratching the back of its neck. Fawkes crooned happily, closing its eyes in contentment.
Dumbledore was watching him very carefully now. Apparently he wasn't acting as expected or something. Honestly all he really wanted to do was go back to being curled up on the chair with Fawkes having the best nap of his life.
"You'll be pleased to know that your friends are all recovering from your adventure, and will soon be with you once more," Dumbledore said, watching him carefully over the top of his glasses.
Harry nodded distractedly as he got to a particularly itchy spot on Fawkes' neck.
"...now I must, ask even though I know this is painfully for you, for a full account of what has happened at the Ministry. How did you arrive?"
Well this was great, especially considering what happened the last time he was interrogated, Harry sighed. He still had occasional nightmares about Mad-eye who wasn't Mad-Eye looming over him with that crazy smile, his wand jabbing into his neck…
"Err…" he scratched his head, "it's all a bit of a blur to be honest."
oOoOoOoOoOoOo
Hugging close to the trunk of the tree, Quill peered down through the branches, doing his best to keep as still as possible.
Down below he could just see the top of Snape's head as the man stalked around the forest cleaning, muttering angrily to himself.
People never seemed to look up. It was absolutely fascinating.
The last week before the summer began was proving to be almost as unpleasant as being back at the Durselys. He was being constantly stalked by the professors, but especially Snape who apparently didn't have anything better to do. His friends were still stuck in Madam Pomfrey's tender care. The giant glass Jupiter had really done a number on them, its enchantments being such that it was impossible to remove the glass splinters with magic, more mundane methods being required. But Hermione had come off the worst, requiring a stay in St Mungo's to deal with the shard that had penetrated her chest.
To add insult to injury the Headmaster had tried to ban him from transforming into Quill. Apparently it was far too dangerous, blah, blah, blah...unknown ritual...Quill rolled his eyes in annoyance...could have unforeseen effects, blah, blah, blah…
He had of course transformed at the first possible opportunity, completely ignoring such a ridiculous command. He was Quill, and Quill was him. And also the best thing to have ever happened to him. As if he was going to give up part of himself just because some miserable old man wanted him to. His feathers rustled in restrained annoyance.
The absolute crowning cherry on this dragon dung cake though, was when the Headmaster had insisted he go back to the Dursley's, despite Sirius having been cleared of all charges and now being a free man. Something about it being the safest place for him to be, which he highly doubted.
The man had actually flinched when he'd abruptly stood and silently walked out of the office, so furious he was incapable of speech.
Despite the Headmaster's continous insistence that deep down the Dursley's loved him, he was pretty certain that if he ever met Uncle Vernon again something terrible would happen, and it wouldn't be to him. He could feel it, deep in the part of his mind filled with ferns and giant whispering trees, and bone crunching lizards...
But what could he do about it. The coming confrontation with his hated relatives loomed on the horizon, bearing down on him in all its grizzly glory, as inevitable as the rising sun…
Quill froze on his perch...was it inevitable?
Why was he just going along with this? Just accepting what was thrown at him like a good little boy?
He needed a plan, something so final nobody would be able to stop it.
oOoOoOoOoOoOo
"...you are not my family. You have never been my family…"
Harry bit back a surprised yelp as the quill suddenly snapped, a sliver driving itself into the side of his finger.
Cursing, he stuck the wounded digit in his mouth, too distracted to notice the faint glow and tingle of magic that flooded across the parchment.
Three feet he'd written. Three feet of parchment, pretty small handwriting too. Though he doubted Aunt Petunia would actually go to the trouble of reading it.
It had been hard at first, starting this letter, numerous failed attempts littered the bed around him. But once he'd got going, all the hurt, and pain, loneliness and resentment had come pouring out, liked he'd lanced some sort of emotional boil that he'd been lugging around with him all these years.
He felt empty now, drained, peaceful almost...hopefully it would be enough.
oOo
The dormitory was softly quiet as he snuck out, intent on making it to the Owlery, down silent passages illuminated only by moonlight. It would have been nice to wander into the Forest, but...
Hedwig seemed a little surprised to see him, but eagerly took the letter from his hands, twittering reassuringly at him.
"Don't let them get their hands on you," Harry told her as he gave her neck one last scratch.
Hedwig turned a withering glare on him, giving him a sharp bark, before disappearing in a flurry of wings.
It would take her the better part of a day to make her way south to Surrey, and there were only a couple of days left till the end of term now, and the dreaded start of the summer holidays.
The last thing he wanted was for the Dursleys to turn up at the train station and be waiting for him. In fact, if he never saw them again it would be too soon.
oOoOoOoOoOoOo
The luggage rack was surprisingly comfortable, Quill thought sleepily as he snuggled down even further, the sound of the other students crowding onto the train a pleasant background hum.
He had been unable to sleep that night, any sort of rest eluding him as his mind churned through all the things that could possibly go wrong until he was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open. And now he was so tired he could barely muster the energy to care. He'd set things in motion, and now all he had to do was keep his head.
"...Harry?" Neville's voice drifted up to him, "are you all right?"
He muttered, sleepily tucking his head into his feathered side. Luna's voice drifted up to him muffled by sleep and feathers, saying something reassuring that drew Neville away.
He sank deeper into sleep…
...the rhythm of the train had slowed jerking Quill awake. He yawned and stretched, peering over the edge of the luggage rack to find old industrial buildings, battered and scarred, sliding past the window.
"Harry,"
Quill looked down to find Luna peering up at him over the top of her magazine. "I thought we were going to have to take drastic action to wake you," she smiled vaguely, "we're nearly there you know."
"Not drastic action," Neville said, "not after last time."
"We'd only have had to tickle his feet," Luna said.
Croaking an objection, Quill flung himself off the luggage rack, transforming as he fell.
Harry stretched, twisting his back from side to side as he did. "See, no feet tickling required," he said.
"Um, Harry…" Neville watched him with concern, "where's your trunk?"
"Shrunk in my bag," Harry pulled it down from the luggage rack, "though it might make life easier."
That seemed to satisfy Neville's curiosity, though Luna gave him a knowing smile.
The platform was teeming with life when he slipped off the train, joining the flood of students all eagerly looking for their families.
To his faint surprise he made it out to muggle King's Cross without being accosted. There was no reception party there either, a distinct lack of Dursley's to his absolute delight.
Mustn't get over confident, the feathered part of his mind warned. This was like the hunt, it wasn't over until he was ripping delicious intestines out of a soft warm belly. He needed to blend in, look like he belonged, just a boring bit of the scenery.
Drifting out of the station with a crowd of people, he made it on to Euston Road, quickly loosing himself in the narrower side streets. It was dramatically different when he and the Weaselys' had walked to the station just after Christmas. The streets were soaked in sunshine, heat radiating off the pavements as he walked, the trees that lined many of the side streets now in full leaf, rustling gently in the breeze as he passed under them.
Grimmauld Place was a riot of colour, the small central park bursting with flowers, its lawn neatly clipped. There was even someone walking a small dog there.
The gloom that hung around No.12 Grimmauld Place seemed almost comical in the bright sunlight. Like a vampire being poked out of its shadows or something, Harry though as he headed up the front steps. The door cracked open letting him into the dusty gloom of the hall.
It seemed deserted at first, but as he crept further in he began to hear voices coming up from the kitchen.
"Miss me?" he asked as he sidled into the kitchen, grinning broadly at the stunned looks of the two men sitting at the table.
While Remus only just managed to not spill tea down his front, Sirius leapt to his feet, face full of disbelief, stumbling round the table. "Harry! What are you doing here? I thought...Dumbledore said…"
"Stuff him," Harry said as Sirius pulled him into a bear hug. "I'm staying here. Not leaving ever again."
oOo
Quill shrieked happily as he raced round the kitchen table Padfoot in hot pursuit. They'd been playing an impromptu game of tag for a while now. Sadly all attempts to get Remus involved had been rebuffed with him muttering things about "children", burying himself in the day's copy of the Daily Prophet.
It was as he was just completing another loop of the kitchen table that familiar, and unwelcome, purple pointy shoes stormed into the kitchen, fury practically radiating from them.
"Headmaster," he said as he changed form, Padfoot nearly slamming into the back of his legs.
"What have you done?" the Headmaster demanded.
"Err...in what context?" Harry asked as he tried to sidle round the kitchen table. Always best to put some room, and some objects, between yourself and an angry wizard, he thought.
"The Dursley's," the Headmaster glared at him, "they've gone, sold their house and disappeared."
"Wow," Harry blinked, impressed, "Aunt Petunia doesn't mess around, does she."
"The only information I could learn from the neighbours is that they very abruptly went on a family holiday abroad somewhere, and then the house was suddenly put up for sale."
"Aunt Petunia managed to get Vernon to go on a foreign holiday," Harry could barely hide the glee from his voice, "I am impressed."
"And now you've lost the protection that your mother's family gave you," Dumbledore gave him his most disapproving glare. Harry could barely bring himself to care.
"Not much of a protection was it. It never protected me from my Aunt and Uncle did it." Harry glared back, "they've always been very happy to withhold food, and lock me in a cupboard whenever it suited them. That's when Vernon wasn't trying to hit me, or Dudley and his little gang weren't chasing me to beat me up.
I'm glad they're gone, and I hope I never see them again. They were terrible people," he breathed heavily feeling as if a weight had lifted off his shoulders as he glared the Headmaster down.
The Headmaster stared back, apparently stunned by his out-burst.
"I'm staying right here. With Sirius. And you don't get a say in my life again," Harry said.
"But…" the Headmaster seemed to be regaining his senses.
"No," Harry snapped, "It's over!"
They stared at one another in silence, the atmosphere of the dingy kitchen becoming heavy and oppressive.
"Very well," the Headmaster eventually said, "but I must ask you to…"
"No," Harry said. "No more interference. At all."
The Headmaster gave him one final look, and turned, making his way out of the kitchen, his steps slow and heavy and old.
Harry watched him go, shaken but elated. His life was his own now, he was sure of it. And yes there was the matter of the prophecy, but they were tricky things, almost impossible to interpret until after the fact. So why worry about it?
Whatever the future held, he was going to face it on his own terms.