Prologue- Partings and Sorrows
Nov. 7th, 2005 10:25 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
coyotegothI’m going to be posting installments from a story I’m writing, set in the Harry Potter universe; essentially, it’ll wind up being my version of Book Seven, if all goes well. (Please note that it’s set immediately after the events depicted in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince; accordingly, it’s full of H-B P spoilers.) At any rate, I hope you enjoy. (Please note also that this series is not Deathly Hallows compliant in the least.)
Prologue- Partings and Sorrows
The room was deep within a nameless place; outside, all was silence and shadow. Within, voices could be heard, as a dark figure moved in front of the window.
“...soon as he wakes, we must be away from here, Narcissa. The Ministry will have Aurors after us already; I’ve taken precautions to safeguard this place against detection, but...”
“Is Draco going to be all right, Severus?” asked Narcissa Malfoy anxiously, taking him by the arm. “I’m worried- he hasn’t said a word since you rejoined us...”
“I believe he’s in shock," replied Snape, carefully disengaging her hand. "The events at the tower were... traumatic... for him, and...”
“Traumatic?” interrupted Bellatrix Lestrange, from where she sat in a corner. “Our greatest enemy dead, and he finds that to be traumatic? Narcissa, are you sure Draco’s actually a Malfoy...?”
“As I was about to say,” Snape interjected in a particularly cold tone, “I’ve given Draco something for his nerves. It will wear off before dawn; we must be away by then. For now, Narcissa,” he continued, taking her by the arm and leading her to the other room, “try to get some rest. This nonstop Apparating we’ve been doing all night will make it more difficult for them to follow us, but it is a strain upon one’s system.
“There- drink the rest of this,” could be heard from the other room, followed by the sound of someone reclining upon a bed. Moments later, Snape re-entered the room, walking over to the window.
“Everything all right?” asked Bellatrix sardonically, as she sipped from a glass of bloodred wine. “I hope the mighty slayer of Albus Dumbledore isn’t going to come down with a case of the vapors as well... Oh, but I forgot- you’re busy protecting Narcissa and her precious Draco, too; that must weigh on you.”
“Be silent, Bellatrix,” said Snape in low tones, not turning from the window.
“Yes, a good thing you’re watching over them,” said Bellatrix, eyes glinting as she put down her glass. “What will you do when the Aurors burst in- Avada Kedavra them, one and all? After all, you’re so skilled at casting it... Or, perhaps we could give them someone as a distraction; Narcissa was useless when she tried to become a Death Eater, but...”
Suddenly, Snape was right in front of her, leaning over so that his face filled her view. His hands clutched the arms of the chair; his black unblinking eyes were inches in front of hers. When he spoke, his voice was low and cold, and utterly pitiless. “Let us speak frankly with one another, Bellatrix. Draco and his mother are essential to me; you are not. If there is to be a sacrificial lamb given, it will be you.”
She found herself unable to reply, or to look away from his piercing black eyes, so close to her own; her hand clenched her wand tightly... then slowly, reluctantly, lowered it.
“Now, if there is nothing else- be silent until it is time for us to leave.”
“The Dark Lord will hear of this,” Bellatrix hissed as she clutched the arms of her chair. Snape stood, and said nothing; he merely turned his back on her and looked out the window, staring into the night.
*
“...Harry?”
Harry Potter turned away from the Gryffindor dormitory window, where his breath had been misting on the windowpane in the night’s chill. “Oh, hey, Hermione. Shouldn’t you be resting up for Bill and Fleur’s wedding...?”
Hermione stared silently at him for a moment, then looked at the rucksack on his bed, already packed. “You’re going.”
Harry slumped a little. “I have to. With all that’s happened... I need to be away from here. Voldemort is too dangerous; none of you are safe so long as I’m here.”
She nodded, eyes gleaming. “I knew you’d say that,” she replied, as she reached into a pocket of her robes.
“What is that?” Harry asked.
She opened her hand, showing him the object that lay within- a small golden charm, affixed to a necklace. “This is something I learned about in one of my extra classes, Harry. It’s called a Cricket- if you take hold of it and concentrate, I’ll know that you need me, and I’ll do whatever I can to help. It may be useful, in case you can’t send an owl. Here- take it.”
Harry reached out his hand for it, then suddenly pulled it back. “Did he teach you about this?” Hermione blushed and looked down, before quietly saying, “Yes.”
“Oh, that’s just perfect!” snapped Harry, before catching himself and lowering his voice. “That’s just what I need- it’ll probably disintegrate me! Did he teach you about that in one of your private classes with him...?”
Hermione stared at him, shocked; her eyes began to water. “Harry- that wasn’t fair.”
“I... I’m sorry, Hermione.” Harry was suddenly ashamed of himself; he couldn’t bring himself to look at her. “You’re right- that was unfair.”
Silence hung in the air for a long moment; finally, he reached out and took the necklace from her. “Thank you, Hermione.”
“You’re welcome,” she replied in flat tones. “I should let you go,” she added, turning to the door.
“Hermione- wait. Please, wait.” She paused, still not looking at him. “You’re right- that wasn’t fair of me,” he said. “It was wrong of me to say, and I’m sorry. I know you were trying to help me, and...” Harry paused, forcing the words out one at a time. “...I know that he... Snape... was a very good teacher. I know that you- we- learned a lot from him, and that you’re trying to help me. I... I truly am sorry.”
She nodded, biting her lip as she looked at him with shining eyes. “I do wish you the best, Harry. I’d do anything I could to help you.”
“I know, Hermione. I just... he...”
“I know, Harry,” she said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. They stood that way for a long moment, not speaking; behind him, Ron tossed restlessly in his sleep. Harry turned to look at him. “Hermione,” he finally said quietly, “explain it to him, will you? He’d want to come with me, and... I need to do this alone, at least for now.”
“I know, Harry- I will,” she said. A tear ran down her face; she stepped forward, hugging him tightly and kissing him on the cheek. “There- you'd best get going,” she said, forcing a smile as she wrapped his hand around the Cricket. “Harry... take care of yourself.”
“I will- you, too,” he said, lifting a hand in farewell. Then, slipping the Cricket necklace around his neck, he silently turned and walked out of the Gryffindor bedroom, leaving Hermione silhouetted in the moonlight.
*
Harry’s breath misted slightly in the night air as he walked across the Hogwarts grounds, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans; by daylight, he planned to be well away from here. He walked quickly- the night was cloudless, and the moon was nearly full. For a moment, his eyes flicked to the owlery; it wasn’t practical to bring Hedwig along, unfortunately. He would follow Dumbledore’s instructions and return to number four, Privet Drive one last time, to take advantage of the protective spell cast when he was but an infant; first, he wanted to travel to Godric’s Hollow, to... what was that?
He was walking near Dumbledore’s white marble tomb; he thought he’d seen something move... there. Death Eaters? Dementors? He drew his wand, and stealthily moved closer, to get a better view. Training his wand, he came around the tomb... and saw a small boy in Gryffindor robes sitting on the ground before the tomb, head down, holding something in his hand. Harry put his wand away, and thought for a moment- one of the first years; something Stubbs...
“Stubbs?” he called softly. Startled, the boy jumped to his feet, stuffing the object back into his robes. “I’m sorry!” the boy said. “I didn’t mean any disrespect, sir...”
“It’s all right, Stubbs,” said Harry, stepping closer. “I’m not a teacher; I’m...”
“Harry Potter!” cried Stubbs, before catching himself and continuing in lower tones. “Sir- what are you doing here?”
“That’s a long story,” replied Harry. “For now- what are you doing here, so early in the morning?”
“My parents told me to wait at Hogwarts for them to come and get me- and I couldn’t sleep, sir,” replied Stubbs, looking down at the ground. “Not after...”
Harry nodded. “I know- but you should get back to bed. It really isn’t safe to be out at night like this. And you needn’t call me sir; I’m not a professor. My name’s Harry.”
“Sorry, sir... H- Harry.”
“It’s all right,” replied Harry. “What was that you were holding, anyway?”
Stubbs blushed, and looked down at the ground. “Nothing, sir... Harry... I mean, you’d think it was silly.”
Harry looked down at the small boy in his Gryffindor robes for a moment, then put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right, Stubbs. What is it?”
Slowly, reluctantly, the smaller boy reached into a pocket of his robes; he pulled out something, and placed it in Harry’s hand. Harry squinted at it in the predawn light; with a pang of emotion, he realized it was a Dumbledore Chocolate Frog card. He remembered being introduced to them by Ron, on his first trip to Hogwarts, and being surprised by Dumbledore’s image moving and disappearing... but this card had no image on it, none at all.
“I was up all night looking at it,” said Stubbs quietly. “I’d use the light from my wand, and watch, and wait... but he never came.” He paused, and looked up at Harry for a moment. “He’s not coming back, is he?” It wasn’t really a question.
“No,” said Harry softly.
“And you’re... you’re going after the people that did this to him. The ones who work for You-Know-Who.”
Harry abruptly turned away. “You’d best get to bed now, Stubbs. Try to get some rest; your parents will be here for you soon.” As he began walking away, he heard the quiet voice behind him. “Sir? Harry...?”
Harry stopped for a moment, and looked back. Stubbs was looking at him steadily, although he was clearly nervous about the whole situation. “Harry... I want to help. Please... tell me what I can do.”
Nothing- just keep your head down, and keep safe, was Harry’s instinctive response. Where was safe anymore, though? If he failed, if Voldemort wasn’t stopped, there wouldn’t be a single place in the wizarding world that would be safe for anyone. Harry sighed for a moment, and walked back over to Stubbs; he felt tired, and suddenly old. He knelt, and looked the younger boy in the eye. “I can’t lie to you, Stubbs- things are bad, and they’re getting darker all the time, and there's not really any place that’s safe for you now- not even Hogwarts. There’s no easy way out, for any of us; all I can tell you is to learn as many spells as you can, have them at the ready, and have them backed by all the courage you have. Remember- the first time I faced Voldemort by myself, I was just your age. Never lose heart.” He stood up, as the first rays of the sun peeped over the hills; he’d planned to be away by now.
“I won’t,” replied Stubbs intently. “Harry- when you faced him- Voldemort- were you afraid?”
“I was terrified,” said Harry simply, “but I didn’t let that stop me. Only love and courage can save us now.” Words swum up in his memory: “’We few, we happy few, we band of brothers...’”
“That’s lovely,” said Stubbs. “What is it?”
“It’s something I saw in a Muggle book about war once,” replied Harry, turning to walk away. “They're words that... that help us know we're not alone in this. Keep practicing your spells, Stubbs- I’ve heard good things about you.” As he reached the first bend in the path, he looked back; Stubbs took the card out of his robes, placed it carefully on Dumbledore’s tomb, and brushed it once with his fingers. Then, Stubbs started walking back toward Hogwarts, even as Harry walked around the bend, and away.
*
Peter Pettigrew shuddered as he walked into the Dark Lord's private chambers; the walls emitted a dim green light, which reflected off the rough-hewn stone of the chamber. A sudden hissing sound, as Nagini slid aside, allowing him access; Peter flinched, nerving himself to go forward.
"Now, now, my pet," came a high, cold voice. "We don't want to make our precious Peter nervous, now do we? After all, this is a night of celebration... come forward, Peter. Nagini will not strike at you... unless I order her to, of course."
Peter swallowed hard, as he approached the robed figure of Lord Voldemort. Voldemort had a scroll in his right hand; as Peter approached, he rolled it up, and placed it on a small table. Peter wondered to himself how those red eyes could see to read in this darkness, then immediately stifled the thought; it was not wise to let his mind dwell on the Dark Lord while actually in his presence... "My Lord," Peter said nervously, "...I bear news of..."
"Of Harry Potter, yes?" Voldemort smiled, as his red eyes transfixed Peter's. "Yes... yes, I see that Harry Potter has left Hogwarts unannounced, hoping to spare his friends from danger. How achingly Gryffindor of him." He gave a low, cold chuckle, then went on, "Tell me, Peter- are any of my Death Eaters at hand?"
"No, My Lord, they still celebrate the loss of Albus Dumbledore." Reluctantly, Peter proffered his bared left forearm. "Do you wish to summon them...?"
Voldemort's eyes gleamed red. "And deny them the right to celebrate such a momentous occasion? Why, Peter- do you consider me heartless...? I only wish I could have paid my own personal respects at the funeral- there are many I would have enjoyed speaking to. McGonagall, Lupin, Moody, Scrimgeour... yes, I have many greetings to extend, when the time is right, most especially to Harry Potter. Harry Potter..." he repeated to himself. "Brave, but still a child... a foolish child... his next move will be to return to Privet Drive, or... yes. Godric's Hollow. Visiting his poor, dead parents. It would please me greatly to capture him there, in the village where his accursed mother countered me. You remember Lily, don't you, Peter...?"
Peter shivered, and said nothing; he felt gooseflesh on his arms, as he looked down at the floor, watching the green light gleam off of Nagini's scales for a moment. The snake hissed, as she always did when Peter looked at her; he instinctively recoiled. "Now, Nagini..." said Voldemort in mocking tones, "...we must be gracious on this, the night of my greatest triumph. Peter here seeks to further my goals just as you do- don't you, Peter...?"
Peter shivered again, eyes downcast. "I live only to serve you, Lord."
"Ah, yes- my most faithful of servants, aren't you, Peter? My apologies- I should call you by your old Marauder name, Wormtail- after all, you are a Gryffindor, aren't you? Despite lying, betraying your friends, and even murdering in my name...?" Voldemort continued, draping an arm over Peter's shoulder as Peter forced himself not to recoil. "Tell me, Wormtail- do you remember the boy, Diggory? The startled look on his face, as you blasted him down with the Avada Kedavra? How the Gryffindor within you must recoil at your deeds. How you must writhe inwardly at having to obey me, the greatest Slytherin since Salazar himself... Oh, how your House would loathe you, if they could see what you have come to... But then, fear will keep any animal in line, let alone a rat- and you fear me, don't you, Wormtail?"
A stab of shame, which he'd thought long since suppressed. "...yes, Lord."
Another chilling laugh. "Yes- poor, frightened Wormtail- my own pet Gryffindor." Voldemort reached out and took Peter's chin in his hand, turning the other man's face to his. "If only your fellow Marauders could see you now, Wormtail- tell me, what do you think they would say...?"
Peter looked down from those red eyes to his gleaming silver hand for a moment, remembering his encounter with Remus and Sirius. He swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "They... they'd call me a traitor, Lord."
Voldemort smiled. "Exactly so- and yet, you serve a greater cause than those purblind, noble fools could have ever dreamed of, as they all lined up to die..." A pause, as Voldemort walked across his chamber, then turned to look at Peter again. Voldemort's face was silhouetted against the light from the walls, but his eyes still gleamed in the dark, bright and red. "As soon as my Death Eaters begin to return, send some of them to me- I have a duty for them. And... yes, I think... the Dementors." Peter shuddered, as he always did when he thought of the Dementors, and their Kiss. "You don't mind speaking with the Dementors for me, do you, Wormtail...?"
"I... I will do whatever you wish, Lord."
"Whatever I wish." A truly chilling laugh. "It is well, Wormtail. Tell the Dementors, and my Death Eaters, that I have a task for them- a task involving... Harry Potter." Peter shivered again, as high, cold laughter filled the chamber.
*
Harry shivered in the early morning sun, and absently rubbed his scar. For a bare instant, he found an image of Peter Pettigrew flashing through his mind, cowering in fear from... The image passed from his mind, as he looked up at the looming white front of Gringotts, with its polished bronze doors. Looking at the bank, he was left with a strange feeling of anxiety and purpose, mixed together; for the first time in his life, he was utterly alone, with neither the Dursleys nor Dumbledore to answer to, and it was a heady, nervous feeling. He dimly heard a group of people talking all at once, as they walked out the doors and past him:
“...because seventeen and twenty-nine are numbers that have mystical significance for the goblins, if you ask me. Of course, they’ll never...”
“...gold isn’t the basis of the Galleon’s worth, of course. Any powerful wizard could probably Transfigurate all the gold he needed; a Galleon’s only worth about five Muggle pounds, after all, and there’s more gold in it than that, anyway. The value is in the spells the goblins use to cast and mold the gold; molding wizard gold is a tricky business- and of course, the goblins will never share those spells... a monopoly...”
“...real question is, what will the war to do prices? I mean, last time...”
Harry looked after them for a moment, surprised that anyone could discuss the war so matter-of-factly. Then, he steeled himself, and walked in.
*
“...of course, Mister Potter- and what can I do for you...?”
“I’d like to change some of the money in my account to Muggle funds, please. And some Muggle identification.”
*
Harry looked out the window of the taxi, as they drove through the village of Godric’s Hollow. It felt odd, being able to do this; although he had tall stacks of Galleons in his Gringotts account, he’d never had money of his own in the Muggle world before. He found himself absentmindedly rubbing his scar again, and forced his hand away from the cap he'd bought to cover it. Finally, the taxi slowed, and came to a stop. “’Ere you are- number thirty-nine, Seacombe Way.”
Harry looked out the window for a moment, not saying anything. The house in which he had been born- in which his parents had died- was an empty, overgrown vacant lot now, with a fence around it. He blinked, and found himself suddenly fighting tears.
“Not much here, eh?”
“No- it’s fine,” said Harry, automatically counting out money. “Thank you very much,” he said, as he climbed out. The cab drove away; Harry turned, and walked up to the chainlink fence. He pressed his forehead against its links; it rattled softly, as he looked through at the lot, looking for... what? Lord Voldemort had blasted his parents from the face of the earth, they had fought for him to their dying breaths... and now, it was simply a grass-strewn lot, nothing more...
Harry didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, resting his forehead against the links of the fence, when suddenly, something made the hair on the back of his neck prickle. He turned; a man dressed in a gray suit was walking towards him from the far end of the street. Something about the man seemed odd; Harry tensed, and stepped away from the fence links. He then backed away down the street; the man began to follow. Harry debated drawing his wand, but, remembering what had happened when he and Dudley had been attacked by Dementors in Little Whinging, he decided to retreat. He turned, and began walking away swiftly; in his peripheral vision, he could see the man begin to follow. Harry walked more swiftly now, heading for the main street of Godric’s Hollow; behind him, he heard swift steps on the pavement, as an unfamiliar man’s voice called “Wait- wait a moment!”
Instead, Harry began to run, arms pumping as he ran madly for the town’s main street; the man was beginning to close the distance between them, until he tripped over a trash bin... then came to his feet, running after Harry again. Harry looked for pedestrians, or a policeman- someone he could alert- but Godric’s Hollow’s sidewalks seemed largely vacant in the early morning... there; the main street, with a fair bit of motor traffic, including an 18-wheel truck trundling down the street. Harry hesitated for a second; he had quick reflexes as a Seeker, but Quidditch wasn’t the world’s most athletic sport- he was already beginning to pant for breath, and the man was closing the distance again. If he was going to do something, best do it now...
He paused for a bare second to calculate- then turned, and ran directly into traffic, dodging cars right and left. Brakes shrieked; horns blared; he thought he heard the man yell his name, but the sudden blare of traffic noise drowned it out as he lunged, grabbed a handlebar at the back of the 18-wheeled truck’s bed, and clung to it for dear life.
*
Later, Harry couldn’t remember how exactly he’d come to the pub. He’d let go of the truck after a few minutes; there was no sign of the man in gray, and he was exhausted and filthy. He realized that he was only a few blocks from the remains of his parents’ house, and this realization made him uneasy as he walked toward the pub. The pub’s sign cheered him slightly, though; a golden lion on a red background, with the name underneath:
The Lion and Lamb
Harry looked up and down the sidewalk; there were few pedestrians, and no sign of the man in gray. Looking through the front window, the place looked open and friendly in the midafternoon light; the large front windows meant that he would be able to see the man in gray, should he return, and the dim lighting of the interior would make it more difficult for anyone to identify him from outside. His adrenaline rush was fading now; finally deciding that he could do with a wash-up and a drink, he headed in. The barman gave a friendly greeting as he returned from the washroom; Harry sagged with fatigue, as he slumped into a seat and ordered a pint. The barman gave his ID a careful look, and then drew the round; Harry sipped, staring out the front window, until it was gone.
“Get you something else?” asked the barman, a solid, friendly man in his middle fifties.
“Yeah, I... actually, I’m looking for someone,” said Harry, not turning from the window; it was the first thing that came into his mind to say.
“Oh? Anyone I might know?”
“The Potters- Lily and James Potter,” Harry answered, equally off-handedly.
The barman winced. “I’m afraid I can’t help you there- Lily and James passed away a long time ago.”
Harry turned, and looked at the barman in surprise. “Did you know them...?” he asked.
“Aye, that I did.” The barman was silent for a moment, and then indicated a booth in the back. “They used to come in here now and again, years ago- they’d sit in that booth over there, sometimes with a bunch of their friends. Lovely, lovely people- James had a marvelous sense of humor, and Lily... ah, she was a treasure.”
Harry couldn’t take his eyes off the booth; he shook his head, trying to think through a blur of emotion and fatigue. “What happened to them...?” he asked, unsure of what to say next.
“No one knows- their house burned down ages ago. They had a child, but... no one knows what happened to him. Funny thing- a sister of hers inherited the place, but insisted that nothing be done with the place, ever. Fenced it off, and that was that. Here, wait.” He felt around under the bar, then finally pulled up a photo album, and started leafing through its pages. “Here- here they are.”
Harry took a breath, and looked. There was his father, smiling broadly for the camera; there was his mother... There were Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew- Harry’s knuckles whitened on the bartop- and Sirius, with his arm around Remus's shoulders... all young, and smiling, and raising glasses in a toast to a future most of them would never see. Harry stared down at the photograph with its unmoving figures, barely remembering to breathe.
“That was taken the night they found out she was expecting,” said the barman softly. “They were usually too busy to come by, by then- but they came that night, to drink to Lily and her child.” The barman looked at Harry for a moment, and then carefully took the photograph out of the album. “Here,” he said quietly. “Why don’t you have this?”
Harry nodded, and wiped at his eyes with the back of a sleeve as he put the photograph away in his rucksack. He looked at the barman for a moment; the barman was looking back at him steadily. “What’s your name?” he finally asked the barman.
“Mike.”
“I’m Harry, Mike.”
Mike smiled, and shook his hand. “Harry... good name.”
“Where are they buried...?”
“Good Hope cemetery- it’s right out on Bay Road. Want me to ring up a cab?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
As the barman turned to dial the number, Harry folded a twenty-pound note in two, and slipped it under his glass. He picked up his rucksack, and headed to the exit, looking carefully through the front window before opening the door. “It’ll be here in a moment,” Mike called.
“Thanks,” said Harry, standing with the door open.
“Thank you,” replied Mike, looking under the glass.
“Cheers,” said Harry; he was headed out the door, when the barman called him back. Mike now had a somber expression on his face, as he said, “Harry... be careful. There are strange people around here at night nowadays.”
*
Good Hope cemetery was out on the outskirts of town; it was a heavily wooded place, with a hill sloping gently upwards. The guard at the gate grunted out directions; Harry walked for about five minutes, up the hill, past the forked oak tree... there. There they were.
The stone marker simply gave their names, and denoted the dates of birth, and of death: October 31, 1981. Harry took a glance around, then stared down at it for a moment, trying to think of something to do, something to say, now that he was here at last... “I’m trying really hard,” he finally said. “Two of the Horcruxes are gone, and I’m looking for the others... but I had to come see you first.” Harry thought for a moment of the dementors attacking him and Sirius, and of being briefly convinced that his father had returned. “Maybe I just had to see it for myself,” he added, as he touched the sunwarmed stone.
He looked away for a moment; on the other side, the land sloped down to the edge of a river; the sun, so warm upon his face, danced upon the water... suddenly, to his chagrin, he yawned hugely. He swayed upon his feet, and realized that he had been too emotionally keyed up about this journey to sleep before now. For a moment, he glanced back towards the cemetery’s gate, but the afternoon sun was warm, and the ground looked soft... he picked an out-of-the-way spot, curled up carefully under his invisibility cloak, and was almost immediately asleep.
*
He yawned silently, and stretched; it was night now. Working his shoulders, he winced; he had stiffened up from lying on the ground. He was about to get to his feet, when he heard a nearby voice, quiet and cold, cut through the darkness: “What word?”
“None as yet,” another voice, even closer, responded. “There's been no sign of the Potter brat since he snuck out of Hogwarts sometime last night; our orders are to wait here, and at the house, in case he shows up.”
Harry’s heart beat faster- “the house” could only refer to Privet Drive. Somehow, he had to warn Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia; would these people- almost certainly Death Eaters- go after them as well? His hand slipped to his wand, and drew it from his belt...
“And when he does...?”
“Don’t kill him- that’s more than your life is worth, or mine. The Dark Lord is sending dementors- they’ll keep him nice and quiet on the way to Caradoc. Just use a Freezing Charm or something, to keep him quiet.” Harry waited, to see if they would reveal anything else useful, but they said nothing more. Slowly, carefully, making sure he was still fully covered by the cloak, he got to his feet and moved away, back towards the road. When he was certain he was out of sight of the grave, he took his invisibility cloak off, and tucked it away in his rucksack.
He forced himself to think: he was going to have to warn both the Dursleys, and the Order of the Phoenix. First, he’d need a pay phone... then, an owl... he’d have to... Suddenly, someone grabbed him from behind. “Oi- what you doing here, eh?”
“Let go!” Harry thrashed, trying to free himself, as two more shadowy figures emerged from the dark. “Temper, temper, little man- it ain’t safe ‘round here these days!” one said gleefully, punching him in the stomach. Harry dropped his wand; he kicked out, catching one of them between the legs.
After that, they were on him; Harry flailed out as best he could, but staggered under a flurry of punches. First, his glasses were knocked off; then, one caught him behind the ear, and he collapsed.
*
Harry’s eyes flickered open in the early morning light; with his glasses missing, the world was merely a blur. To his surprise, he was still lying on the ground, in the Good Hope cemetery; not agents of Voldemort, then... just hooligans. Wincing in pain, Harry felt around for his glasses; he found them lying by a nearby tree, broken and twisted. The picture lay next to it, partially torn; his upturned, empty rucksack lay next to it, with clothes scattered about. No owl to send a message, no broom... my glasses are broken... my wand’s missing... Of the draft he had taken from Gringotts, there was no sign at all.
Prologue- Partings and Sorrows
The room was deep within a nameless place; outside, all was silence and shadow. Within, voices could be heard, as a dark figure moved in front of the window.
“...soon as he wakes, we must be away from here, Narcissa. The Ministry will have Aurors after us already; I’ve taken precautions to safeguard this place against detection, but...”
“Is Draco going to be all right, Severus?” asked Narcissa Malfoy anxiously, taking him by the arm. “I’m worried- he hasn’t said a word since you rejoined us...”
“I believe he’s in shock," replied Snape, carefully disengaging her hand. "The events at the tower were... traumatic... for him, and...”
“Traumatic?” interrupted Bellatrix Lestrange, from where she sat in a corner. “Our greatest enemy dead, and he finds that to be traumatic? Narcissa, are you sure Draco’s actually a Malfoy...?”
“As I was about to say,” Snape interjected in a particularly cold tone, “I’ve given Draco something for his nerves. It will wear off before dawn; we must be away by then. For now, Narcissa,” he continued, taking her by the arm and leading her to the other room, “try to get some rest. This nonstop Apparating we’ve been doing all night will make it more difficult for them to follow us, but it is a strain upon one’s system.
“There- drink the rest of this,” could be heard from the other room, followed by the sound of someone reclining upon a bed. Moments later, Snape re-entered the room, walking over to the window.
“Everything all right?” asked Bellatrix sardonically, as she sipped from a glass of bloodred wine. “I hope the mighty slayer of Albus Dumbledore isn’t going to come down with a case of the vapors as well... Oh, but I forgot- you’re busy protecting Narcissa and her precious Draco, too; that must weigh on you.”
“Be silent, Bellatrix,” said Snape in low tones, not turning from the window.
“Yes, a good thing you’re watching over them,” said Bellatrix, eyes glinting as she put down her glass. “What will you do when the Aurors burst in- Avada Kedavra them, one and all? After all, you’re so skilled at casting it... Or, perhaps we could give them someone as a distraction; Narcissa was useless when she tried to become a Death Eater, but...”
Suddenly, Snape was right in front of her, leaning over so that his face filled her view. His hands clutched the arms of the chair; his black unblinking eyes were inches in front of hers. When he spoke, his voice was low and cold, and utterly pitiless. “Let us speak frankly with one another, Bellatrix. Draco and his mother are essential to me; you are not. If there is to be a sacrificial lamb given, it will be you.”
She found herself unable to reply, or to look away from his piercing black eyes, so close to her own; her hand clenched her wand tightly... then slowly, reluctantly, lowered it.
“Now, if there is nothing else- be silent until it is time for us to leave.”
“The Dark Lord will hear of this,” Bellatrix hissed as she clutched the arms of her chair. Snape stood, and said nothing; he merely turned his back on her and looked out the window, staring into the night.
“...Harry?”
Harry Potter turned away from the Gryffindor dormitory window, where his breath had been misting on the windowpane in the night’s chill. “Oh, hey, Hermione. Shouldn’t you be resting up for Bill and Fleur’s wedding...?”
Hermione stared silently at him for a moment, then looked at the rucksack on his bed, already packed. “You’re going.”
Harry slumped a little. “I have to. With all that’s happened... I need to be away from here. Voldemort is too dangerous; none of you are safe so long as I’m here.”
She nodded, eyes gleaming. “I knew you’d say that,” she replied, as she reached into a pocket of her robes.
“What is that?” Harry asked.
She opened her hand, showing him the object that lay within- a small golden charm, affixed to a necklace. “This is something I learned about in one of my extra classes, Harry. It’s called a Cricket- if you take hold of it and concentrate, I’ll know that you need me, and I’ll do whatever I can to help. It may be useful, in case you can’t send an owl. Here- take it.”
Harry reached out his hand for it, then suddenly pulled it back. “Did he teach you about this?” Hermione blushed and looked down, before quietly saying, “Yes.”
“Oh, that’s just perfect!” snapped Harry, before catching himself and lowering his voice. “That’s just what I need- it’ll probably disintegrate me! Did he teach you about that in one of your private classes with him...?”
Hermione stared at him, shocked; her eyes began to water. “Harry- that wasn’t fair.”
“I... I’m sorry, Hermione.” Harry was suddenly ashamed of himself; he couldn’t bring himself to look at her. “You’re right- that was unfair.”
Silence hung in the air for a long moment; finally, he reached out and took the necklace from her. “Thank you, Hermione.”
“You’re welcome,” she replied in flat tones. “I should let you go,” she added, turning to the door.
“Hermione- wait. Please, wait.” She paused, still not looking at him. “You’re right- that wasn’t fair of me,” he said. “It was wrong of me to say, and I’m sorry. I know you were trying to help me, and...” Harry paused, forcing the words out one at a time. “...I know that he... Snape... was a very good teacher. I know that you- we- learned a lot from him, and that you’re trying to help me. I... I truly am sorry.”
She nodded, biting her lip as she looked at him with shining eyes. “I do wish you the best, Harry. I’d do anything I could to help you.”
“I know, Hermione. I just... he...”
“I know, Harry,” she said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. They stood that way for a long moment, not speaking; behind him, Ron tossed restlessly in his sleep. Harry turned to look at him. “Hermione,” he finally said quietly, “explain it to him, will you? He’d want to come with me, and... I need to do this alone, at least for now.”
“I know, Harry- I will,” she said. A tear ran down her face; she stepped forward, hugging him tightly and kissing him on the cheek. “There- you'd best get going,” she said, forcing a smile as she wrapped his hand around the Cricket. “Harry... take care of yourself.”
“I will- you, too,” he said, lifting a hand in farewell. Then, slipping the Cricket necklace around his neck, he silently turned and walked out of the Gryffindor bedroom, leaving Hermione silhouetted in the moonlight.
Harry’s breath misted slightly in the night air as he walked across the Hogwarts grounds, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans; by daylight, he planned to be well away from here. He walked quickly- the night was cloudless, and the moon was nearly full. For a moment, his eyes flicked to the owlery; it wasn’t practical to bring Hedwig along, unfortunately. He would follow Dumbledore’s instructions and return to number four, Privet Drive one last time, to take advantage of the protective spell cast when he was but an infant; first, he wanted to travel to Godric’s Hollow, to... what was that?
He was walking near Dumbledore’s white marble tomb; he thought he’d seen something move... there. Death Eaters? Dementors? He drew his wand, and stealthily moved closer, to get a better view. Training his wand, he came around the tomb... and saw a small boy in Gryffindor robes sitting on the ground before the tomb, head down, holding something in his hand. Harry put his wand away, and thought for a moment- one of the first years; something Stubbs...
“Stubbs?” he called softly. Startled, the boy jumped to his feet, stuffing the object back into his robes. “I’m sorry!” the boy said. “I didn’t mean any disrespect, sir...”
“It’s all right, Stubbs,” said Harry, stepping closer. “I’m not a teacher; I’m...”
“Harry Potter!” cried Stubbs, before catching himself and continuing in lower tones. “Sir- what are you doing here?”
“That’s a long story,” replied Harry. “For now- what are you doing here, so early in the morning?”
“My parents told me to wait at Hogwarts for them to come and get me- and I couldn’t sleep, sir,” replied Stubbs, looking down at the ground. “Not after...”
Harry nodded. “I know- but you should get back to bed. It really isn’t safe to be out at night like this. And you needn’t call me sir; I’m not a professor. My name’s Harry.”
“Sorry, sir... H- Harry.”
“It’s all right,” replied Harry. “What was that you were holding, anyway?”
Stubbs blushed, and looked down at the ground. “Nothing, sir... Harry... I mean, you’d think it was silly.”
Harry looked down at the small boy in his Gryffindor robes for a moment, then put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right, Stubbs. What is it?”
Slowly, reluctantly, the smaller boy reached into a pocket of his robes; he pulled out something, and placed it in Harry’s hand. Harry squinted at it in the predawn light; with a pang of emotion, he realized it was a Dumbledore Chocolate Frog card. He remembered being introduced to them by Ron, on his first trip to Hogwarts, and being surprised by Dumbledore’s image moving and disappearing... but this card had no image on it, none at all.
“I was up all night looking at it,” said Stubbs quietly. “I’d use the light from my wand, and watch, and wait... but he never came.” He paused, and looked up at Harry for a moment. “He’s not coming back, is he?” It wasn’t really a question.
“No,” said Harry softly.
“And you’re... you’re going after the people that did this to him. The ones who work for You-Know-Who.”
Harry abruptly turned away. “You’d best get to bed now, Stubbs. Try to get some rest; your parents will be here for you soon.” As he began walking away, he heard the quiet voice behind him. “Sir? Harry...?”
Harry stopped for a moment, and looked back. Stubbs was looking at him steadily, although he was clearly nervous about the whole situation. “Harry... I want to help. Please... tell me what I can do.”
Nothing- just keep your head down, and keep safe, was Harry’s instinctive response. Where was safe anymore, though? If he failed, if Voldemort wasn’t stopped, there wouldn’t be a single place in the wizarding world that would be safe for anyone. Harry sighed for a moment, and walked back over to Stubbs; he felt tired, and suddenly old. He knelt, and looked the younger boy in the eye. “I can’t lie to you, Stubbs- things are bad, and they’re getting darker all the time, and there's not really any place that’s safe for you now- not even Hogwarts. There’s no easy way out, for any of us; all I can tell you is to learn as many spells as you can, have them at the ready, and have them backed by all the courage you have. Remember- the first time I faced Voldemort by myself, I was just your age. Never lose heart.” He stood up, as the first rays of the sun peeped over the hills; he’d planned to be away by now.
“I won’t,” replied Stubbs intently. “Harry- when you faced him- Voldemort- were you afraid?”
“I was terrified,” said Harry simply, “but I didn’t let that stop me. Only love and courage can save us now.” Words swum up in his memory: “’We few, we happy few, we band of brothers...’”
“That’s lovely,” said Stubbs. “What is it?”
“It’s something I saw in a Muggle book about war once,” replied Harry, turning to walk away. “They're words that... that help us know we're not alone in this. Keep practicing your spells, Stubbs- I’ve heard good things about you.” As he reached the first bend in the path, he looked back; Stubbs took the card out of his robes, placed it carefully on Dumbledore’s tomb, and brushed it once with his fingers. Then, Stubbs started walking back toward Hogwarts, even as Harry walked around the bend, and away.
Peter Pettigrew shuddered as he walked into the Dark Lord's private chambers; the walls emitted a dim green light, which reflected off the rough-hewn stone of the chamber. A sudden hissing sound, as Nagini slid aside, allowing him access; Peter flinched, nerving himself to go forward.
"Now, now, my pet," came a high, cold voice. "We don't want to make our precious Peter nervous, now do we? After all, this is a night of celebration... come forward, Peter. Nagini will not strike at you... unless I order her to, of course."
Peter swallowed hard, as he approached the robed figure of Lord Voldemort. Voldemort had a scroll in his right hand; as Peter approached, he rolled it up, and placed it on a small table. Peter wondered to himself how those red eyes could see to read in this darkness, then immediately stifled the thought; it was not wise to let his mind dwell on the Dark Lord while actually in his presence... "My Lord," Peter said nervously, "...I bear news of..."
"Of Harry Potter, yes?" Voldemort smiled, as his red eyes transfixed Peter's. "Yes... yes, I see that Harry Potter has left Hogwarts unannounced, hoping to spare his friends from danger. How achingly Gryffindor of him." He gave a low, cold chuckle, then went on, "Tell me, Peter- are any of my Death Eaters at hand?"
"No, My Lord, they still celebrate the loss of Albus Dumbledore." Reluctantly, Peter proffered his bared left forearm. "Do you wish to summon them...?"
Voldemort's eyes gleamed red. "And deny them the right to celebrate such a momentous occasion? Why, Peter- do you consider me heartless...? I only wish I could have paid my own personal respects at the funeral- there are many I would have enjoyed speaking to. McGonagall, Lupin, Moody, Scrimgeour... yes, I have many greetings to extend, when the time is right, most especially to Harry Potter. Harry Potter..." he repeated to himself. "Brave, but still a child... a foolish child... his next move will be to return to Privet Drive, or... yes. Godric's Hollow. Visiting his poor, dead parents. It would please me greatly to capture him there, in the village where his accursed mother countered me. You remember Lily, don't you, Peter...?"
Peter shivered, and said nothing; he felt gooseflesh on his arms, as he looked down at the floor, watching the green light gleam off of Nagini's scales for a moment. The snake hissed, as she always did when Peter looked at her; he instinctively recoiled. "Now, Nagini..." said Voldemort in mocking tones, "...we must be gracious on this, the night of my greatest triumph. Peter here seeks to further my goals just as you do- don't you, Peter...?"
Peter shivered again, eyes downcast. "I live only to serve you, Lord."
"Ah, yes- my most faithful of servants, aren't you, Peter? My apologies- I should call you by your old Marauder name, Wormtail- after all, you are a Gryffindor, aren't you? Despite lying, betraying your friends, and even murdering in my name...?" Voldemort continued, draping an arm over Peter's shoulder as Peter forced himself not to recoil. "Tell me, Wormtail- do you remember the boy, Diggory? The startled look on his face, as you blasted him down with the Avada Kedavra? How the Gryffindor within you must recoil at your deeds. How you must writhe inwardly at having to obey me, the greatest Slytherin since Salazar himself... Oh, how your House would loathe you, if they could see what you have come to... But then, fear will keep any animal in line, let alone a rat- and you fear me, don't you, Wormtail?"
A stab of shame, which he'd thought long since suppressed. "...yes, Lord."
Another chilling laugh. "Yes- poor, frightened Wormtail- my own pet Gryffindor." Voldemort reached out and took Peter's chin in his hand, turning the other man's face to his. "If only your fellow Marauders could see you now, Wormtail- tell me, what do you think they would say...?"
Peter looked down from those red eyes to his gleaming silver hand for a moment, remembering his encounter with Remus and Sirius. He swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "They... they'd call me a traitor, Lord."
Voldemort smiled. "Exactly so- and yet, you serve a greater cause than those purblind, noble fools could have ever dreamed of, as they all lined up to die..." A pause, as Voldemort walked across his chamber, then turned to look at Peter again. Voldemort's face was silhouetted against the light from the walls, but his eyes still gleamed in the dark, bright and red. "As soon as my Death Eaters begin to return, send some of them to me- I have a duty for them. And... yes, I think... the Dementors." Peter shuddered, as he always did when he thought of the Dementors, and their Kiss. "You don't mind speaking with the Dementors for me, do you, Wormtail...?"
"I... I will do whatever you wish, Lord."
"Whatever I wish." A truly chilling laugh. "It is well, Wormtail. Tell the Dementors, and my Death Eaters, that I have a task for them- a task involving... Harry Potter." Peter shivered again, as high, cold laughter filled the chamber.
Harry shivered in the early morning sun, and absently rubbed his scar. For a bare instant, he found an image of Peter Pettigrew flashing through his mind, cowering in fear from... The image passed from his mind, as he looked up at the looming white front of Gringotts, with its polished bronze doors. Looking at the bank, he was left with a strange feeling of anxiety and purpose, mixed together; for the first time in his life, he was utterly alone, with neither the Dursleys nor Dumbledore to answer to, and it was a heady, nervous feeling. He dimly heard a group of people talking all at once, as they walked out the doors and past him:
“...because seventeen and twenty-nine are numbers that have mystical significance for the goblins, if you ask me. Of course, they’ll never...”
“...gold isn’t the basis of the Galleon’s worth, of course. Any powerful wizard could probably Transfigurate all the gold he needed; a Galleon’s only worth about five Muggle pounds, after all, and there’s more gold in it than that, anyway. The value is in the spells the goblins use to cast and mold the gold; molding wizard gold is a tricky business- and of course, the goblins will never share those spells... a monopoly...”
“...real question is, what will the war to do prices? I mean, last time...”
Harry looked after them for a moment, surprised that anyone could discuss the war so matter-of-factly. Then, he steeled himself, and walked in.
“...of course, Mister Potter- and what can I do for you...?”
“I’d like to change some of the money in my account to Muggle funds, please. And some Muggle identification.”
Harry looked out the window of the taxi, as they drove through the village of Godric’s Hollow. It felt odd, being able to do this; although he had tall stacks of Galleons in his Gringotts account, he’d never had money of his own in the Muggle world before. He found himself absentmindedly rubbing his scar again, and forced his hand away from the cap he'd bought to cover it. Finally, the taxi slowed, and came to a stop. “’Ere you are- number thirty-nine, Seacombe Way.”
Harry looked out the window for a moment, not saying anything. The house in which he had been born- in which his parents had died- was an empty, overgrown vacant lot now, with a fence around it. He blinked, and found himself suddenly fighting tears.
“Not much here, eh?”
“No- it’s fine,” said Harry, automatically counting out money. “Thank you very much,” he said, as he climbed out. The cab drove away; Harry turned, and walked up to the chainlink fence. He pressed his forehead against its links; it rattled softly, as he looked through at the lot, looking for... what? Lord Voldemort had blasted his parents from the face of the earth, they had fought for him to their dying breaths... and now, it was simply a grass-strewn lot, nothing more...
Harry didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, resting his forehead against the links of the fence, when suddenly, something made the hair on the back of his neck prickle. He turned; a man dressed in a gray suit was walking towards him from the far end of the street. Something about the man seemed odd; Harry tensed, and stepped away from the fence links. He then backed away down the street; the man began to follow. Harry debated drawing his wand, but, remembering what had happened when he and Dudley had been attacked by Dementors in Little Whinging, he decided to retreat. He turned, and began walking away swiftly; in his peripheral vision, he could see the man begin to follow. Harry walked more swiftly now, heading for the main street of Godric’s Hollow; behind him, he heard swift steps on the pavement, as an unfamiliar man’s voice called “Wait- wait a moment!”
Instead, Harry began to run, arms pumping as he ran madly for the town’s main street; the man was beginning to close the distance between them, until he tripped over a trash bin... then came to his feet, running after Harry again. Harry looked for pedestrians, or a policeman- someone he could alert- but Godric’s Hollow’s sidewalks seemed largely vacant in the early morning... there; the main street, with a fair bit of motor traffic, including an 18-wheel truck trundling down the street. Harry hesitated for a second; he had quick reflexes as a Seeker, but Quidditch wasn’t the world’s most athletic sport- he was already beginning to pant for breath, and the man was closing the distance again. If he was going to do something, best do it now...
He paused for a bare second to calculate- then turned, and ran directly into traffic, dodging cars right and left. Brakes shrieked; horns blared; he thought he heard the man yell his name, but the sudden blare of traffic noise drowned it out as he lunged, grabbed a handlebar at the back of the 18-wheeled truck’s bed, and clung to it for dear life.
Later, Harry couldn’t remember how exactly he’d come to the pub. He’d let go of the truck after a few minutes; there was no sign of the man in gray, and he was exhausted and filthy. He realized that he was only a few blocks from the remains of his parents’ house, and this realization made him uneasy as he walked toward the pub. The pub’s sign cheered him slightly, though; a golden lion on a red background, with the name underneath:
Harry looked up and down the sidewalk; there were few pedestrians, and no sign of the man in gray. Looking through the front window, the place looked open and friendly in the midafternoon light; the large front windows meant that he would be able to see the man in gray, should he return, and the dim lighting of the interior would make it more difficult for anyone to identify him from outside. His adrenaline rush was fading now; finally deciding that he could do with a wash-up and a drink, he headed in. The barman gave a friendly greeting as he returned from the washroom; Harry sagged with fatigue, as he slumped into a seat and ordered a pint. The barman gave his ID a careful look, and then drew the round; Harry sipped, staring out the front window, until it was gone.
“Get you something else?” asked the barman, a solid, friendly man in his middle fifties.
“Yeah, I... actually, I’m looking for someone,” said Harry, not turning from the window; it was the first thing that came into his mind to say.
“Oh? Anyone I might know?”
“The Potters- Lily and James Potter,” Harry answered, equally off-handedly.
The barman winced. “I’m afraid I can’t help you there- Lily and James passed away a long time ago.”
Harry turned, and looked at the barman in surprise. “Did you know them...?” he asked.
“Aye, that I did.” The barman was silent for a moment, and then indicated a booth in the back. “They used to come in here now and again, years ago- they’d sit in that booth over there, sometimes with a bunch of their friends. Lovely, lovely people- James had a marvelous sense of humor, and Lily... ah, she was a treasure.”
Harry couldn’t take his eyes off the booth; he shook his head, trying to think through a blur of emotion and fatigue. “What happened to them...?” he asked, unsure of what to say next.
“No one knows- their house burned down ages ago. They had a child, but... no one knows what happened to him. Funny thing- a sister of hers inherited the place, but insisted that nothing be done with the place, ever. Fenced it off, and that was that. Here, wait.” He felt around under the bar, then finally pulled up a photo album, and started leafing through its pages. “Here- here they are.”
Harry took a breath, and looked. There was his father, smiling broadly for the camera; there was his mother... There were Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew- Harry’s knuckles whitened on the bartop- and Sirius, with his arm around Remus's shoulders... all young, and smiling, and raising glasses in a toast to a future most of them would never see. Harry stared down at the photograph with its unmoving figures, barely remembering to breathe.
“That was taken the night they found out she was expecting,” said the barman softly. “They were usually too busy to come by, by then- but they came that night, to drink to Lily and her child.” The barman looked at Harry for a moment, and then carefully took the photograph out of the album. “Here,” he said quietly. “Why don’t you have this?”
Harry nodded, and wiped at his eyes with the back of a sleeve as he put the photograph away in his rucksack. He looked at the barman for a moment; the barman was looking back at him steadily. “What’s your name?” he finally asked the barman.
“Mike.”
“I’m Harry, Mike.”
Mike smiled, and shook his hand. “Harry... good name.”
“Where are they buried...?”
“Good Hope cemetery- it’s right out on Bay Road. Want me to ring up a cab?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
As the barman turned to dial the number, Harry folded a twenty-pound note in two, and slipped it under his glass. He picked up his rucksack, and headed to the exit, looking carefully through the front window before opening the door. “It’ll be here in a moment,” Mike called.
“Thanks,” said Harry, standing with the door open.
“Thank you,” replied Mike, looking under the glass.
“Cheers,” said Harry; he was headed out the door, when the barman called him back. Mike now had a somber expression on his face, as he said, “Harry... be careful. There are strange people around here at night nowadays.”
Good Hope cemetery was out on the outskirts of town; it was a heavily wooded place, with a hill sloping gently upwards. The guard at the gate grunted out directions; Harry walked for about five minutes, up the hill, past the forked oak tree... there. There they were.
The stone marker simply gave their names, and denoted the dates of birth, and of death: October 31, 1981. Harry took a glance around, then stared down at it for a moment, trying to think of something to do, something to say, now that he was here at last... “I’m trying really hard,” he finally said. “Two of the Horcruxes are gone, and I’m looking for the others... but I had to come see you first.” Harry thought for a moment of the dementors attacking him and Sirius, and of being briefly convinced that his father had returned. “Maybe I just had to see it for myself,” he added, as he touched the sunwarmed stone.
He looked away for a moment; on the other side, the land sloped down to the edge of a river; the sun, so warm upon his face, danced upon the water... suddenly, to his chagrin, he yawned hugely. He swayed upon his feet, and realized that he had been too emotionally keyed up about this journey to sleep before now. For a moment, he glanced back towards the cemetery’s gate, but the afternoon sun was warm, and the ground looked soft... he picked an out-of-the-way spot, curled up carefully under his invisibility cloak, and was almost immediately asleep.
He yawned silently, and stretched; it was night now. Working his shoulders, he winced; he had stiffened up from lying on the ground. He was about to get to his feet, when he heard a nearby voice, quiet and cold, cut through the darkness: “What word?”
“None as yet,” another voice, even closer, responded. “There's been no sign of the Potter brat since he snuck out of Hogwarts sometime last night; our orders are to wait here, and at the house, in case he shows up.”
Harry’s heart beat faster- “the house” could only refer to Privet Drive. Somehow, he had to warn Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia; would these people- almost certainly Death Eaters- go after them as well? His hand slipped to his wand, and drew it from his belt...
“And when he does...?”
“Don’t kill him- that’s more than your life is worth, or mine. The Dark Lord is sending dementors- they’ll keep him nice and quiet on the way to Caradoc. Just use a Freezing Charm or something, to keep him quiet.” Harry waited, to see if they would reveal anything else useful, but they said nothing more. Slowly, carefully, making sure he was still fully covered by the cloak, he got to his feet and moved away, back towards the road. When he was certain he was out of sight of the grave, he took his invisibility cloak off, and tucked it away in his rucksack.
He forced himself to think: he was going to have to warn both the Dursleys, and the Order of the Phoenix. First, he’d need a pay phone... then, an owl... he’d have to... Suddenly, someone grabbed him from behind. “Oi- what you doing here, eh?”
“Let go!” Harry thrashed, trying to free himself, as two more shadowy figures emerged from the dark. “Temper, temper, little man- it ain’t safe ‘round here these days!” one said gleefully, punching him in the stomach. Harry dropped his wand; he kicked out, catching one of them between the legs.
After that, they were on him; Harry flailed out as best he could, but staggered under a flurry of punches. First, his glasses were knocked off; then, one caught him behind the ear, and he collapsed.
Harry’s eyes flickered open in the early morning light; with his glasses missing, the world was merely a blur. To his surprise, he was still lying on the ground, in the Good Hope cemetery; not agents of Voldemort, then... just hooligans. Wincing in pain, Harry felt around for his glasses; he found them lying by a nearby tree, broken and twisted. The picture lay next to it, partially torn; his upturned, empty rucksack lay next to it, with clothes scattered about. No owl to send a message, no broom... my glasses are broken... my wand’s missing... Of the draft he had taken from Gringotts, there was no sign at all.
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Date: 2005-11-08 02:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-08 08:48 pm (UTC)