I did not, nor do I have rights to, create the world of Harry Potter, including all characters, settings and names.
Feedback here...please leave some, it really helps write a better story or boost confidence to continue.
I want to thank Just the Droobles for being my beta.
Enjoy,
-Nick
HJP
Chapter 1
A Nightmare Revisited
Remus…Tonks…Fred…the Creeveys…Snape.... All of them flashing through his mind, forcing him to relive his worst memories; the memories he wished he could take back.
He was standing at the edge of the lake; looking out over its glossy, black surface. He had been here many times before, in this now familiar cave. Now he was on top of the astronomy tower, watching his beloved headmaster fall. Then the Ministry of Magic, watching Umbridge torture the muggleborn witches and wizards….then the Malfoy Manor, listening to Hermione being tortured…the Shrieking Shack…the Forbidden Forest…and then the Forest of Dean.
He was walking alone, among the tress. Seventeen years of age, skinny, with a lightning bolt scar on his forehead, black hair and green eyes. Harry Potter was back once again…
He had been visiting this forest every night, in search of something; something just out of his reach. For nights, he has been getting closer. Tonight, however, was different.
A cloak whipped around the trunk of a tree just ahead. Quickening his pace, Harry skirted around the trunk, trying to find out who, or what, he was chasing. Now, in a full out sprint, Harry was gaining ground, it seemed as though the cloak figure was slightly injured because it couldn’t hold off Harrys steady pace. He was running, running, running. And just when he thought he would never reach the figure in time it stopped, turned around, and took off its cloak.
Harry’s insides withdrew faster than the blink of an eye. It was him, but how could it be? Those red, gleaming eyes and that pale, snakelike face were staring back at him. Lord Voldemort was standing, staring at Harry…alone, in the Forest of Dean.
Harry awoke with a start, cold, sweating and alone on the floor next to his bed. He heard the creak of the door slowly opening and quickly withdrew his wand, while standing up banging his knees on his nightstand.
“Master,” came the voice of Kreacher. “Master Harry, you fell off the bed. Kreacher was worried. Kreacher went to get some washcloths but you started saying ‘The Dark Lord has returned.’”
Harry could see the concern in Kreacher’s eyes. He found it hard to believe he once hated Kreacher and wanted nothing to do with him.
“It’s okay Kreacher,” replied Harry, “it was just a nightmare.”
“Master Harry has been doing this for the past week,” said Kreacher, with unease in his voice.
“Don’t worry about it Kreacher. What time is it?”
“It is 5:30 Master Harry. Kreacher was on his way to wake Harry for his meeting today. It is in two hours. Perhaps Master Harry will take a shower and wear the nice clothes Kreacher has laid out for him, while Kreacher makes Master Harry some kippers and toast?”
Harry, rubbing his knees, looked around the room of his late Godfather. He had been staying at Grimmauld Place ever since the death of Lord Voldemort. Wiping the sleepiness out of his eyes, Harry began walking towards the door.
“Yeah Kreacher, that sounds good.”
As he headed towards the bathroom and Kreacher hurried towards the kitchen to begin making breakfast, he couldn’t help but worry about what he had seen in his dream. Rubbing his eyes, trying to remember what he had seen, it made no sense to him. After all his work and all his effort, Lord Voldemort comes back? It couldn’t be, how could it?
He had fought so hard to make sure Voldemort would not come back. There was no possible way for him to be back. So Harry, convinced it was just a nightmare, stepped into the shower.
“Master Harry! Master Harry! Your breakfast is ready sir!” shouted Kreacher from the kitchen.
Harry walked down the stairs towards the kitchen. Passing a mirror on the landing he looked at a tired young man who seemed somewhat awkward in his handsome dark green robes.
Sitting down at the table, Harry began eating his kippers and toast, looking around the kitchen. It had once been a place of so much importance and work. He missed the business of the Order; with all this time and solitude Harry felt miserable.
After eating all of his food, he leaned back in his chair and downed a glass of pumpkin juice.
“When will you be expected to return, sir?” asked Kreacher.
“Well, Kingsley will want to go over new laws and regulations. Also, I’m supposed to have a meeting today with the school governors to decide on a new headmaster now that Minerva has declined the position.” replied Harry in a dull tone, “So I would say later this evening, probably around six.”
“Yes sir, I will prepare dinner right away!”
“Thanks Kreacher.”
As Harry left the kitchen, Kreacher cleaned up the plate and began cleaning the whole kitchen. Harry walked along the hall and stepped out into the cool air of the dewy morning. Harry looked around at all of the dark windows, for it was a Saturday and the residents of Grimmauld Place would be sleeping late today. Harry looked around one last time for any muggles within his site; seeing nobody, he turned on the spot and was gone.
Streaking across the street into the alleyway, a small fox ran from the cover of the bushes. Seconds later, a thin man appeared with a crazed look on his face. Nobody living in the square would have recognized him but he seemed to know exactly who had just been standing in Grimmauld Place and who disapparated. Looking down at the faded image of the Dark Lord’s mark on his left forearm, Barty Crouch Jr. walked off into the brightness of the rising sun and vanished.
Full Version: Harry Potter And The Eighth Horcrux
Here's Chapter 2...Chapter 3 coming soon.
Chapter 2
The Beginning after the End
The last time the peacock-blue ceiling of the Ministry of Magic had seen Harry Potter walk below its splendor was when Harry was under the protection of Polyjuice Potion and Voldemort reigned supreme.
New times have blessed this ceiling and the footsteps of Kingsley Shacklebolt were pacing up and down the hardwood floor, waiting for Harry Potter to arrive. They were to have a meeting and discuss the laws and regulations of the wizarding world under the new Ministry of Magic. Kingsley was appointed Minister of Magic after the fall of Lord Voldemort and now, he and Harry, were going to set things right.
“Kingsley! I’ve been meaning to have a word with you,” said Arthur Weasley. “I’ve been wanting to go over the new laws on Muggle Artifacts and Affairs. I’ve been looking at Section 13, Part A and…”
“Sorry Arthur,” replied Kingsley deep voice. “I can’t right now, I’m rather busy at the moment.”
At that moment Harry Potter came through the grate in front of Kingsley Shacklebolt, stepping out onto the hardwood floor, facing the two men.
“Ah, Harry! It’s so good to see you!” exclaimed Arthur. “No one has heard from you since Hogwarts, I do hope you’ve been alright.”
Harry looked into the familiar face of Arthur Weasley and wished he hadn’t seen him at all. It was true, after leaving Hogwarts Harry had secluded himself at Grimmauld Place. Casting the Fidelius Charm over the place once again, nobody could seek him out. He had not wanted to come into contact with anyone that he knew, especially from the Order. Seeing the faces of those people he knew during the fight against Voldemort felt strange and distant after the conflict passed. It was almost as if he only knew them through battle and not through friendship.
“Mr. Weasley…I…I’m sorry…” said Harry, in a sad tone, avoiding Mr. Weasley’s eyes. “I’ve just needed some time alone.”
“I understand,” replied Mr. Weasley “I trust you’ve been alright?”
“Yes…yes, it’s been tough alone, but I’ve been alright.”
“Harry,” interjected Kingsley. “We must begin our meeting for we have much to discuss.”
“Yes, we better get it over with,” replied Harry.
Kingsley and Harry turned and started walking towards the lift when Mr. Weasley called Harry.
“Harry! Harry, could you come back here for just a moment?” asked Mr. Weasley.
Harry walked back to Mr. Weasley, wondering what he could want.
“Harry, I have something to give you and I was told to tell you not to open it until you are alone.” said Mr. Weasley.
He pulled out a rather thick envelope from inside his robes. It had the words Harry Potter written on the front of it.
“What is inside Mr. Weasley?” asked Harry.
Mr. Weasley looked down into Harry’s eyes and looked as though he was in deep thought; as though wondering whether he should answer the question.
“I do not know specifics,” replied Mr. Weasley, “but there are two letters inside of this envelope; one from Ron and one from Hermione. They’ve been so worried about you, especially Hermione, and they insisted that I give this to you if I happen to see you on your way to you meeting with Kingsley.”
Arthur held out the envelope for Harry to take. Harry looked at it for a second, tears welling up in his eyes. For he had not spoken to his best friends in some time and to know they have been this worried…worried enough to ask Mr. Weasley to deliver the letter to him while he attended a meeting no one is supposed to know about….Harry took the letter with shaking hands and promised Mr. Weasley that he would only open the envelope when alone.
Harry looked at Mr. Weasley for a second longer, said his goodbyes and turned to follow Kingsley into the lift. Leaving Mr. Weasley standing alone in the atrium, staring at the spot where Harry just stood.
“Level One, Offices of Minister of Magic, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, and Junior Undersecretary to the Minister,” said the cool, smooth voice from the lift.
Harry and Kingsley stepped out of the lift and walked down the hall, taking a left at the end. They continued down this hallway, passing windows in which sunlight came streaming through the windows, meanwhile messages passed over their heads like little birds.
“Oh great,” sighed Kingsley, as no fewer than eight messages flew towards his office at the end of the hall. “It looks like it will be a long day for me.”
They walked to the door at the end of the hallway; on it was a label reading:
Kingsley Shacklebolt
Minister of Magic
Harry entered the office, following Kingsley. Opposite the door there were large windows lining the whole wall, letting sunlight pour into the office. The walls were painted gold with portraits of previous Ministers, posters of criminals the Ministry was after, framed copies of important laws and regulations and personal framed photos that Kingsley added.
Harry took a closer look at some of the photos Kingsley added, while he was busying himself with his desk. Looking from picture to picture, Harry recognized many of the people in them. There was one of the original Order of the Phoenix; one of Kingsley and Dumbledore (a pang somewhere deep in Harry’s stomach occurred at the sight of Dumbledore); one of Mr. Weasley and Kingsley; one of the second generation of the Order of the Phoenix; one of Sirius and Kingsley; one of Harry and Kingsley; and there was even one of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Kingsley.
Harry took his eyes off the last picture of the four of them and turned to face the Minister, who had now situated himself behind his desk.
“So, Kingsley, I suppose we should get to it then?” asked Harry.
“Yes, we’re just waiting for a couple members of the Ministry to arrive. They should be here shortly,” replied Kingsley.
Harry nodded and looked back at the photograph of Hermione, Ron, Kingsley and him. He missed his friends terribly but still felt awkward around them. Maybe he would feel better after reading the letters.
Harry started looking around the whole of the office, looking at the inhabitants more closely. He recognized a few objects such as a Foe Glass and a Sneakoscope, which he supposed helped Kingsley during his years as an Auror. Which reminded Harry…
“Kingsley,” said Harry, “I never congratulated you on becoming Minister of Magic. You definitely were the best man for the job.”
“Thank you Harry,” replied Kingsley. “It’s pretty stressful, but not as bad as being Head Auror with Voldemort running around.”
At that moment there was a polite knock on the door.
“Come in,” said Kingsley.
The door opened and four fully grown wizards walked through the door. The first wizard was a little taller than Harry, with blonde hair, blue eyes and bright blue robes. He walked with the air of pompousness about him. The second man was shorter than Harry by about a foot. He was balding but had a thick beard growing down below his collar line. He was wearing dark green robes and bounced on his heels, reminding Harry of Professor Flitwick. The third man who stepped through the door was about Harry’s height and had black hair neatly parted to one side. If were not for the robes, Harry would have thought a muggle businessman just walked through the door. The last wizard stepped through the door and Harry felt his stomach drop to his knees and right to the floor. Percy Weasley, dressed in black robes, had just walked into the office. He had not seen Percy since the death of Fred, just two weeks ago.
“Hey Harry…” said Percy, with a somber attitude.
“Hi Percy, how are you?” replied Harry, outstretching his hand.
“I’m doing alright, getting ready for the funeral.”
Percy shook Harry’s hand and walked off to wait for everyone to finish their greetings. Kingsley, meanwhile, stepped up to Harry and introduced the three other guests.
“Harry, this is Mr. Halthrow.” said Kingsley, while the wizard wearing bright blue robes shook Harry’s hand. “He’s the new Head of the Magical Law Enforcement.”
Next, the short, balding man bounced up to Harry, shaking his hand very vigorously.
“And this is Mr. Boitley. He is the Head of the Improper Use of Magic Office,” announced Kingsley.
“So very good to meet you Mr. Potter, sir,” came Mr. Boitley’s high-pitched voice.
Lastly, the man with neatly parted hair stepped forward to shake Harry’s hand.
“Oh, this is my Senior Undersecretary, Mr. Callo,” said Kingsley.
After introductions were completed, the six of them took their seats around a table, with Harry at one end, with Kingsley at the other.
“Now then, down to business.” said Kingsley.
“Yes Minister,” replied Percy. “Now, while new at heading up the Department of International Magical Cooperation…”
And on it went. The six of them sat there for hours, debating laws and regulations dealing with house-elfs, giants, dragons, and goblins. Not a single thing was left out for they wanted to make sure everything was in order for when they presented their new laws to the International Confederation of Wizards.
Harry sat through it all and gave his advice and thoughts on every issue; which got annoying after a couple of hours. But what he found most annoying about this whole meeting was how everyone seemed to agree with him once he gave his two cents. In fact, the only person who would even dare give a different opinion was Kingsley.
Finally around four in the afternoon the meeting was adjourned. Harry lagged behind so that he could have a few parting words with Kingsley.
On his way out, Percy stopped, gave Harry teary goodbye and left, leaving Harry feeling worse than ever for Percy.
“I hope he’ll be alright,” said Harry, still staring after Percy walking down the hall, towards the lift.
“I’m sure he’ll be just fine,” replied Kingsley. “He just needs some time.”
They both watched Percy turn the corner and disappear from view.
“Which reminds me Harry,” came Kingsley’s deep voice. “Are you going to be at Fred’s funeral?”
Harry turned to face Kingsley. He had been dreading the answer to this question ever since Fred died and Harry went into isolation. He, of course, would be going to the funeral. However, he could not stand to see all of his friends and loved ones who he had neglected these past two weeks and hose who he left without a moments notice. With a pang of guilt, Harry’s mind flashed across the faces of Ron, Hermione and Ginny as he answered Kingsley.
“Yes, I will be going,” replied Harry.
“As a matter of fact, I best be going now,” said Harry, with a glance at his watch. “I’m supposed to meet with the school governors to discuss the appointment of a new headmaster. Goodbye Kingsley. I’ll see you soon.”
“Bye Harry. I’ll see you in a few days at the funeral,” replied Kingsley.
They shook hands and Harry set off back down the hallway with the streaming sunlight and entered the lift only hoping that this next meeting would go much faster.
Chapter 2
The Beginning after the End
The last time the peacock-blue ceiling of the Ministry of Magic had seen Harry Potter walk below its splendor was when Harry was under the protection of Polyjuice Potion and Voldemort reigned supreme.
New times have blessed this ceiling and the footsteps of Kingsley Shacklebolt were pacing up and down the hardwood floor, waiting for Harry Potter to arrive. They were to have a meeting and discuss the laws and regulations of the wizarding world under the new Ministry of Magic. Kingsley was appointed Minister of Magic after the fall of Lord Voldemort and now, he and Harry, were going to set things right.
“Kingsley! I’ve been meaning to have a word with you,” said Arthur Weasley. “I’ve been wanting to go over the new laws on Muggle Artifacts and Affairs. I’ve been looking at Section 13, Part A and…”
“Sorry Arthur,” replied Kingsley deep voice. “I can’t right now, I’m rather busy at the moment.”
At that moment Harry Potter came through the grate in front of Kingsley Shacklebolt, stepping out onto the hardwood floor, facing the two men.
“Ah, Harry! It’s so good to see you!” exclaimed Arthur. “No one has heard from you since Hogwarts, I do hope you’ve been alright.”
Harry looked into the familiar face of Arthur Weasley and wished he hadn’t seen him at all. It was true, after leaving Hogwarts Harry had secluded himself at Grimmauld Place. Casting the Fidelius Charm over the place once again, nobody could seek him out. He had not wanted to come into contact with anyone that he knew, especially from the Order. Seeing the faces of those people he knew during the fight against Voldemort felt strange and distant after the conflict passed. It was almost as if he only knew them through battle and not through friendship.
“Mr. Weasley…I…I’m sorry…” said Harry, in a sad tone, avoiding Mr. Weasley’s eyes. “I’ve just needed some time alone.”
“I understand,” replied Mr. Weasley “I trust you’ve been alright?”
“Yes…yes, it’s been tough alone, but I’ve been alright.”
“Harry,” interjected Kingsley. “We must begin our meeting for we have much to discuss.”
“Yes, we better get it over with,” replied Harry.
Kingsley and Harry turned and started walking towards the lift when Mr. Weasley called Harry.
“Harry! Harry, could you come back here for just a moment?” asked Mr. Weasley.
Harry walked back to Mr. Weasley, wondering what he could want.
“Harry, I have something to give you and I was told to tell you not to open it until you are alone.” said Mr. Weasley.
He pulled out a rather thick envelope from inside his robes. It had the words Harry Potter written on the front of it.
“What is inside Mr. Weasley?” asked Harry.
Mr. Weasley looked down into Harry’s eyes and looked as though he was in deep thought; as though wondering whether he should answer the question.
“I do not know specifics,” replied Mr. Weasley, “but there are two letters inside of this envelope; one from Ron and one from Hermione. They’ve been so worried about you, especially Hermione, and they insisted that I give this to you if I happen to see you on your way to you meeting with Kingsley.”
Arthur held out the envelope for Harry to take. Harry looked at it for a second, tears welling up in his eyes. For he had not spoken to his best friends in some time and to know they have been this worried…worried enough to ask Mr. Weasley to deliver the letter to him while he attended a meeting no one is supposed to know about….Harry took the letter with shaking hands and promised Mr. Weasley that he would only open the envelope when alone.
Harry looked at Mr. Weasley for a second longer, said his goodbyes and turned to follow Kingsley into the lift. Leaving Mr. Weasley standing alone in the atrium, staring at the spot where Harry just stood.
“Level One, Offices of Minister of Magic, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, and Junior Undersecretary to the Minister,” said the cool, smooth voice from the lift.
Harry and Kingsley stepped out of the lift and walked down the hall, taking a left at the end. They continued down this hallway, passing windows in which sunlight came streaming through the windows, meanwhile messages passed over their heads like little birds.
“Oh great,” sighed Kingsley, as no fewer than eight messages flew towards his office at the end of the hall. “It looks like it will be a long day for me.”
They walked to the door at the end of the hallway; on it was a label reading:
Kingsley Shacklebolt
Minister of Magic
Harry entered the office, following Kingsley. Opposite the door there were large windows lining the whole wall, letting sunlight pour into the office. The walls were painted gold with portraits of previous Ministers, posters of criminals the Ministry was after, framed copies of important laws and regulations and personal framed photos that Kingsley added.
Harry took a closer look at some of the photos Kingsley added, while he was busying himself with his desk. Looking from picture to picture, Harry recognized many of the people in them. There was one of the original Order of the Phoenix; one of Kingsley and Dumbledore (a pang somewhere deep in Harry’s stomach occurred at the sight of Dumbledore); one of Mr. Weasley and Kingsley; one of the second generation of the Order of the Phoenix; one of Sirius and Kingsley; one of Harry and Kingsley; and there was even one of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Kingsley.
Harry took his eyes off the last picture of the four of them and turned to face the Minister, who had now situated himself behind his desk.
“So, Kingsley, I suppose we should get to it then?” asked Harry.
“Yes, we’re just waiting for a couple members of the Ministry to arrive. They should be here shortly,” replied Kingsley.
Harry nodded and looked back at the photograph of Hermione, Ron, Kingsley and him. He missed his friends terribly but still felt awkward around them. Maybe he would feel better after reading the letters.
Harry started looking around the whole of the office, looking at the inhabitants more closely. He recognized a few objects such as a Foe Glass and a Sneakoscope, which he supposed helped Kingsley during his years as an Auror. Which reminded Harry…
“Kingsley,” said Harry, “I never congratulated you on becoming Minister of Magic. You definitely were the best man for the job.”
“Thank you Harry,” replied Kingsley. “It’s pretty stressful, but not as bad as being Head Auror with Voldemort running around.”
At that moment there was a polite knock on the door.
“Come in,” said Kingsley.
The door opened and four fully grown wizards walked through the door. The first wizard was a little taller than Harry, with blonde hair, blue eyes and bright blue robes. He walked with the air of pompousness about him. The second man was shorter than Harry by about a foot. He was balding but had a thick beard growing down below his collar line. He was wearing dark green robes and bounced on his heels, reminding Harry of Professor Flitwick. The third man who stepped through the door was about Harry’s height and had black hair neatly parted to one side. If were not for the robes, Harry would have thought a muggle businessman just walked through the door. The last wizard stepped through the door and Harry felt his stomach drop to his knees and right to the floor. Percy Weasley, dressed in black robes, had just walked into the office. He had not seen Percy since the death of Fred, just two weeks ago.
“Hey Harry…” said Percy, with a somber attitude.
“Hi Percy, how are you?” replied Harry, outstretching his hand.
“I’m doing alright, getting ready for the funeral.”
Percy shook Harry’s hand and walked off to wait for everyone to finish their greetings. Kingsley, meanwhile, stepped up to Harry and introduced the three other guests.
“Harry, this is Mr. Halthrow.” said Kingsley, while the wizard wearing bright blue robes shook Harry’s hand. “He’s the new Head of the Magical Law Enforcement.”
Next, the short, balding man bounced up to Harry, shaking his hand very vigorously.
“And this is Mr. Boitley. He is the Head of the Improper Use of Magic Office,” announced Kingsley.
“So very good to meet you Mr. Potter, sir,” came Mr. Boitley’s high-pitched voice.
Lastly, the man with neatly parted hair stepped forward to shake Harry’s hand.
“Oh, this is my Senior Undersecretary, Mr. Callo,” said Kingsley.
After introductions were completed, the six of them took their seats around a table, with Harry at one end, with Kingsley at the other.
“Now then, down to business.” said Kingsley.
“Yes Minister,” replied Percy. “Now, while new at heading up the Department of International Magical Cooperation…”
And on it went. The six of them sat there for hours, debating laws and regulations dealing with house-elfs, giants, dragons, and goblins. Not a single thing was left out for they wanted to make sure everything was in order for when they presented their new laws to the International Confederation of Wizards.
Harry sat through it all and gave his advice and thoughts on every issue; which got annoying after a couple of hours. But what he found most annoying about this whole meeting was how everyone seemed to agree with him once he gave his two cents. In fact, the only person who would even dare give a different opinion was Kingsley.
Finally around four in the afternoon the meeting was adjourned. Harry lagged behind so that he could have a few parting words with Kingsley.
On his way out, Percy stopped, gave Harry teary goodbye and left, leaving Harry feeling worse than ever for Percy.
“I hope he’ll be alright,” said Harry, still staring after Percy walking down the hall, towards the lift.
“I’m sure he’ll be just fine,” replied Kingsley. “He just needs some time.”
They both watched Percy turn the corner and disappear from view.
“Which reminds me Harry,” came Kingsley’s deep voice. “Are you going to be at Fred’s funeral?”
Harry turned to face Kingsley. He had been dreading the answer to this question ever since Fred died and Harry went into isolation. He, of course, would be going to the funeral. However, he could not stand to see all of his friends and loved ones who he had neglected these past two weeks and hose who he left without a moments notice. With a pang of guilt, Harry’s mind flashed across the faces of Ron, Hermione and Ginny as he answered Kingsley.
“Yes, I will be going,” replied Harry.
“As a matter of fact, I best be going now,” said Harry, with a glance at his watch. “I’m supposed to meet with the school governors to discuss the appointment of a new headmaster. Goodbye Kingsley. I’ll see you soon.”
“Bye Harry. I’ll see you in a few days at the funeral,” replied Kingsley.
They shook hands and Harry set off back down the hallway with the streaming sunlight and entered the lift only hoping that this next meeting would go much faster.
Here is Chapter 3. I've jsut started writin Chapter 4 and it will most likely be done in a week or so.
A/N: My beta, lucky her, is on vacation and has not been able to review this chapter. So, there might be some slight changes to this chapter in a week or so. If there are, I will make sure to mention them back here in this chapter's "Author's Notes"
Remember, feedback is always appreciated!!
Chapter 3
Letters from a Friend
Harry flopped into a chair two hours later to the smell of steak-and-kidney pie and mashed potatoes. Exhausted from the meetings all day long, all he wanted to do was eat his dinner and head straight off to bed. However, the two letters sat, burning in his pocket, waiting to be read. At that moment, Kreacher came trotting over to Harry serving him his dinner.
“There you go Master Harry,” said Kreacher with glee. “How were your meetings today sir?”
“Long,” replied Harry in a dull tone.
Harry ate quickly and in silence, while Kreacher cleaned the kitchen. When he could not eat any more, Harry leaned back in his chair, thinking about the letters from his two best friends.
How he missed them both so much. He was hoping to talk to them before the funeral but had been feeling too guilty about Fred’s death to talk. So with a quick good night to Kreacher, Harry climbed the stairs to his bedroom.
After changing into his pajamas, Harry lay down on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. Pictures of Ron, Hermione and him flashed in front of his face; the best and worst memories of their times at Hogwarts.
Slowly, Harry withdrew the two letters and found Ron’s. He opened the letter carefully; as if scared it would become a Howler and shout in a magnified voice. As he flattened out the letter in the candlelight, he recognized Ron’s sloppy writing. The letter read:
Harry-
Hey, how are you? I was writing to tell you that all of us at the Burrow miss you and want you to come visit. Mom and Dad, fully expect to see you at the funeral, as well as everyone else. Fred’s going to be buried here at the Burrow Saturday at sunset and I was hoping you could get here early to say hello to the family and all.
Please don’t blame yourself for this Harry. Fred knew what he was volunteering for, knew the risk and fought a good battle. Hopefully I’ll see you soon, don’t do anything irrational.
Your friend,
Ron
Harry set down the letter on his nightstand and thought of the Weasleys all gathered in their living room, reminiscing about Fred’s life. Getting tipsy off of the firewhisky while George talks about all the mischief the twins got into at school.
After allowing a small smile to fade from his face, Harry reached for Hermione’s letter and opened it. It was longer than Ron’s and was much neater.
Harry-
I’m writing to you for three reasons. One, please don’t do what you’re doing. You’ve been isolating yourself ever since that night at Hogwarts. We all miss you very much and want you to talk to us, please. It does not do well to keep your feelings inside. So please come to the funeral and do try and come early so we can visit.
I was also writing to you about Ginny. She seems to be under the impression that you have forgotten all about her. Please, don’t leave her hanging out there with her emotions on her sleeve. If you do love her and want to be with her, tell her. If not, then break the news to her soon because it is not good for her to be in this state any longer. Either way, you must talk with her.
Lastly, I wanted to tell you before you got here. But, the death of Fred has really changed Ron. He’s not too different; however, he’s decided that he does not want to continue our relationship. I just wanted to let you know before you got here, so that it would not get too awkward.
We all miss you so much and I hope to see you on Saturday. I’m staying here at Ron’s house so you can send Hedwig to Ron’s if you need to find me.
Looking forward to seeing you soon,
Hermione
Harry finished reading the letter with tears in his eyes. He was thinking about his poor owl. Hermione must have forgotten that Hedwig was killed almost a year ago, after Harry never did announce it to everyone.
Harry’s mind then turned to Ginny. How much in love they were and how he longed to see her face. But he could not continue their relationship; he could not bring Ginny into this isolated world Harry now lived in. No, it couldn’t happen. Hot, fresh tears swelled in his eyes and he thought about telling Ginny at the funeral that they could not be together anymore.
At that moment, Kreacher opened the door to Harry’s room slowly and walked to the edge of the bed, where Harry lay, pretending to be asleep.
“Poor Master,” said Kreacher, muttering to himself. “Never happy anymore, Kreacher sees; always alone with no friends or company anymore.”
Kreacher climbed onto the bed and pulled the covers up over Harry, blew out the candles, and left without another word.
Harry lay there in bed staring at the ceiling, thinking about everything he had just read. His two best friends were together, able to console each other, while Ginny was waiting, waiting for Harry to arrive and to accept her back. He was thinking of his poor owl, Hedwig, and how much he missed her. Harry’s eyelids began to droop, and he was in the Forest of Dean again.
This time, he knew where he was going. Harry followed an unfamiliar path to him, but familiar to his legs, until he came out into a clearing. It was nighttime so the moon shown bright and illuminated a small pond with a tree right on the edge. It reminded Harry of the Black Lake at Hogwarts.
As he approached the tree, Harry saw a tall, skinny figure standing there, waiting. He could just make out the stranger’s hands; they were twirling what seemed to be a wand.
Harry kept on walking towards the tree, but wished he would not. As he reached the edge of the pond, he began walking around it towards the stranger. Finally reaching the tree, Harry opened his mouth to speak to the stranger but before he could, a strange hiss came from the figure.
Harry recognized the sounds that were coming from the figure, he was speaking Parseltongue. The hissing noise stopped and the next second Harry heard a high-pitched voice talking to him. This time Harry understood every word.
“Harry Potter,” said the high-pitched voice, “the Boy Who Lived.”
Harry’s insides curled up into a ball and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He knew that voice, heard it many times. It was the voice of Lord Voldemort.
Harry froze in his tracks. He could not move or make a sound. Voldemort seemed to sense his fear for he turned around and looked into Harry’s eyes with those red eyes and slits for nostrils.
“What happened Harry?” asked Voldemort in a mocking tone. “Did you forget how to speak Parseltongue?”
Voldemort kicked back his head and filled the air with a cold, mirthless laugh. Harry saw birds taking flight and animals fleeing for cover from the noise. He looked back at Voldemort who was, once again, playing with his wand and looking at his feet.
“I told you Harry. I warned you that you could never, truly kill me,” said Voldemort. “Not even your weak old headmaster could kill me…”
At those words, Harry broke out of his trance and looked back into those eyes with a fury like no other.
“I did kill you!” shouted Harry. “I found out your secret. I discovered your Horcruxes and destroyed them all. You cannot be back, they are all gone!”
Lord Voldemort stopped playing with his wand and slowly raised his head to meet Harry’s eyes, green to red. A smirk stretched across Voldemort’s thin, pale lips as he took Harry in. Voldemort then walked towards Harry, until he could hear him whisper:
“Ah…but did you?”
Harry woke with a start, his heart racing wildly in his chest. It was just a dream, just a dream, he was telling himself. Harry laid his head back down on the pillow, thinking about what he had just seen. However, before he could think very long, sleep hit him over the head like a Disillusionment Charm and he fell asleep.
A/N: My beta, lucky her, is on vacation and has not been able to review this chapter. So, there might be some slight changes to this chapter in a week or so. If there are, I will make sure to mention them back here in this chapter's "Author's Notes"
Remember, feedback is always appreciated!!
Chapter 3
Letters from a Friend
Harry flopped into a chair two hours later to the smell of steak-and-kidney pie and mashed potatoes. Exhausted from the meetings all day long, all he wanted to do was eat his dinner and head straight off to bed. However, the two letters sat, burning in his pocket, waiting to be read. At that moment, Kreacher came trotting over to Harry serving him his dinner.
“There you go Master Harry,” said Kreacher with glee. “How were your meetings today sir?”
“Long,” replied Harry in a dull tone.
Harry ate quickly and in silence, while Kreacher cleaned the kitchen. When he could not eat any more, Harry leaned back in his chair, thinking about the letters from his two best friends.
How he missed them both so much. He was hoping to talk to them before the funeral but had been feeling too guilty about Fred’s death to talk. So with a quick good night to Kreacher, Harry climbed the stairs to his bedroom.
After changing into his pajamas, Harry lay down on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. Pictures of Ron, Hermione and him flashed in front of his face; the best and worst memories of their times at Hogwarts.
Slowly, Harry withdrew the two letters and found Ron’s. He opened the letter carefully; as if scared it would become a Howler and shout in a magnified voice. As he flattened out the letter in the candlelight, he recognized Ron’s sloppy writing. The letter read:
Harry-
Hey, how are you? I was writing to tell you that all of us at the Burrow miss you and want you to come visit. Mom and Dad, fully expect to see you at the funeral, as well as everyone else. Fred’s going to be buried here at the Burrow Saturday at sunset and I was hoping you could get here early to say hello to the family and all.
Please don’t blame yourself for this Harry. Fred knew what he was volunteering for, knew the risk and fought a good battle. Hopefully I’ll see you soon, don’t do anything irrational.
Your friend,
Ron
Harry set down the letter on his nightstand and thought of the Weasleys all gathered in their living room, reminiscing about Fred’s life. Getting tipsy off of the firewhisky while George talks about all the mischief the twins got into at school.
After allowing a small smile to fade from his face, Harry reached for Hermione’s letter and opened it. It was longer than Ron’s and was much neater.
Harry-
I’m writing to you for three reasons. One, please don’t do what you’re doing. You’ve been isolating yourself ever since that night at Hogwarts. We all miss you very much and want you to talk to us, please. It does not do well to keep your feelings inside. So please come to the funeral and do try and come early so we can visit.
I was also writing to you about Ginny. She seems to be under the impression that you have forgotten all about her. Please, don’t leave her hanging out there with her emotions on her sleeve. If you do love her and want to be with her, tell her. If not, then break the news to her soon because it is not good for her to be in this state any longer. Either way, you must talk with her.
Lastly, I wanted to tell you before you got here. But, the death of Fred has really changed Ron. He’s not too different; however, he’s decided that he does not want to continue our relationship. I just wanted to let you know before you got here, so that it would not get too awkward.
We all miss you so much and I hope to see you on Saturday. I’m staying here at Ron’s house so you can send Hedwig to Ron’s if you need to find me.
Looking forward to seeing you soon,
Hermione
Harry finished reading the letter with tears in his eyes. He was thinking about his poor owl. Hermione must have forgotten that Hedwig was killed almost a year ago, after Harry never did announce it to everyone.
Harry’s mind then turned to Ginny. How much in love they were and how he longed to see her face. But he could not continue their relationship; he could not bring Ginny into this isolated world Harry now lived in. No, it couldn’t happen. Hot, fresh tears swelled in his eyes and he thought about telling Ginny at the funeral that they could not be together anymore.
At that moment, Kreacher opened the door to Harry’s room slowly and walked to the edge of the bed, where Harry lay, pretending to be asleep.
“Poor Master,” said Kreacher, muttering to himself. “Never happy anymore, Kreacher sees; always alone with no friends or company anymore.”
Kreacher climbed onto the bed and pulled the covers up over Harry, blew out the candles, and left without another word.
Harry lay there in bed staring at the ceiling, thinking about everything he had just read. His two best friends were together, able to console each other, while Ginny was waiting, waiting for Harry to arrive and to accept her back. He was thinking of his poor owl, Hedwig, and how much he missed her. Harry’s eyelids began to droop, and he was in the Forest of Dean again.
This time, he knew where he was going. Harry followed an unfamiliar path to him, but familiar to his legs, until he came out into a clearing. It was nighttime so the moon shown bright and illuminated a small pond with a tree right on the edge. It reminded Harry of the Black Lake at Hogwarts.
As he approached the tree, Harry saw a tall, skinny figure standing there, waiting. He could just make out the stranger’s hands; they were twirling what seemed to be a wand.
Harry kept on walking towards the tree, but wished he would not. As he reached the edge of the pond, he began walking around it towards the stranger. Finally reaching the tree, Harry opened his mouth to speak to the stranger but before he could, a strange hiss came from the figure.
Harry recognized the sounds that were coming from the figure, he was speaking Parseltongue. The hissing noise stopped and the next second Harry heard a high-pitched voice talking to him. This time Harry understood every word.
“Harry Potter,” said the high-pitched voice, “the Boy Who Lived.”
Harry’s insides curled up into a ball and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He knew that voice, heard it many times. It was the voice of Lord Voldemort.
Harry froze in his tracks. He could not move or make a sound. Voldemort seemed to sense his fear for he turned around and looked into Harry’s eyes with those red eyes and slits for nostrils.
“What happened Harry?” asked Voldemort in a mocking tone. “Did you forget how to speak Parseltongue?”
Voldemort kicked back his head and filled the air with a cold, mirthless laugh. Harry saw birds taking flight and animals fleeing for cover from the noise. He looked back at Voldemort who was, once again, playing with his wand and looking at his feet.
“I told you Harry. I warned you that you could never, truly kill me,” said Voldemort. “Not even your weak old headmaster could kill me…”
At those words, Harry broke out of his trance and looked back into those eyes with a fury like no other.
“I did kill you!” shouted Harry. “I found out your secret. I discovered your Horcruxes and destroyed them all. You cannot be back, they are all gone!”
Lord Voldemort stopped playing with his wand and slowly raised his head to meet Harry’s eyes, green to red. A smirk stretched across Voldemort’s thin, pale lips as he took Harry in. Voldemort then walked towards Harry, until he could hear him whisper:
“Ah…but did you?”
Harry woke with a start, his heart racing wildly in his chest. It was just a dream, just a dream, he was telling himself. Harry laid his head back down on the pillow, thinking about what he had just seen. However, before he could think very long, sleep hit him over the head like a Disillusionment Charm and he fell asleep.
Here is Chapter 4, I hope you like it. Chapter 5 is in progress and should be coming out soon. If everyone wants me to continue 
A/N:
My beta is sitll on vacation (she's really really lucky
), so this, again, has not been run through her yet. So if there are any drastic changes I will be sure to efit here and let you all know through this thread and my feedback thread. Speaking of feedback...please leave some, it is very much appreciated...you can find the feedback thread here or in my signature.
Thanks for reading,
-Nick
HJP
Chapter 4
The Funeral
Harry spent the next three days in a blur, mainly staying in Grimmauld Place, helping Kreacher clean the house. But occasionally, he would go out to get a breath of fresh air, visiting places he missed terribly. And before he knew it, Harry woke up Saturday morning at dawn, dreading the day to come.
Harry entered the kitchen to the smell of marmalade and eggs and toast. The smell made his insides squirm with hunger. Harry sat down and bolted down his breakfast, meanwhile opening up the Daily Prophet.
After reading an article about Kingsley being the new Prime Minister, Harry turned the page to find himself staring at the Weasley family, all with their heads down with the title, Funeral for the Honored, page 5. Harry quickly flipped to page 5 where he began to read the article:
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has been vanquished
from the wizarding community by none other than
‘The Chosen One’. But amid all of the triumphs and
smiles, came heartache and tears. We may have found
peace at last, but it was at the price of wizards and witches
of all ages and characters. During the final battle at Hogwarts
a terrible lost was sustained to the honored Weasley family and
friend Harry Potter; Fred Weasley was killed in battle. Fighting
along side of Harry, Fred never gave in to tyranny and never
gave up. He joins those elite, who conquered fear of death, who
mastered bravery, and who honored equality. For all those
who knew Fred; they would remind you not to cry, for that’s
not what Fred would have wanted. Fred will be remembered
as a friend, a family member, and a freedom fighter.
Harry finished reading the article and laid down the newspaper softly, as if afraid to damage the kind words about Fred. He felt tears well up in his eyes and was glad that nobody was around to see him.
All the remorse and guilt he felt, all the anger and frustration was pouring out of him. He could still picture Fred lying crumpled under rock and debris, with a blank stare within his eyes. It was all his fault; he should have never let anyone get involved. Harry sat there, staring at the table, letting wave after wave of emotions roll over him, while tears splashed against the polished wood beneath him.
Harry glanced at the clock as it chimed, telling he occupants of Grimmauld Place that it was 8 o’clock. Kreacher hustled over to the table, picked up the dishes and began to wash them in the sink; meanwhile Harry headed upstairs to clean up and get ready for the funeral.
Overcast skies passed over the Burrow; befitting of the somberness that was cast over the residence. The chickens clucked slow and sadly, as then walked around the front yard, picking for any food left on the ground. The gnomes were taking refuge in the boots, strewn across the yard, hoping to find shelter for the day. Hermione and Ginny were hanging the laundry and setting up seats in the orchard for the funeral later that day. Inside, Mrs. Weasley was cleaning everything within reach, sometimes more than once. Mr. Weasley was in the sitting room talking to Kingsley about Ministry procedures and discussing the arrangement of new muggle protection laws. Percy, George, Bill, Charley, and Ron were all in the attic, cleaning out old boxes, looking for photographs of Fred when he was younger. All in all, the mood at the Burrow was sad and silent.
They were expecting the guests to start arriving later that day, closer to sunset. As the morning dragged on, nobody said more than two words to each other. Mrs. Weasley made lunch around noon and set out eleven plates in hopes that Harry would come for lunch, but he did not.
After lunch, there was not much to do, so everyone sat around the sitting room, waiting. Ron glanced at the clock as it stroked 2 o’clock. Just then, he heard a distant pop from the front yard. Ron looked up quickly and everybody looked up at him.
“Something wrong, Ron?” asked Mrs. Weasley.
“I thought I heard something in the front yard,” replied Ron, slowly getting up.
With nothing else to do, everyone followed Ron to the kitchen door and looked out onto the front yard. There, standing in black robes and wearing a somber look on his face, was Harry Potter.
“Harry!” screamed Ginny, running forward, colliding with him in a tight embrace.
“Hi Ginny,” muttered Harry, feeling worse than ever.
Ginny let go of Harry and both walked towards the house where the Weasley family stood, smiling at Harry. Hermione was the second to rush forward, followed closely by Ron. Both embraced Harry, and Harry found it hard to let go. Harry approached Mr. Weasley, George, Bill, Charlie and Kingsley and shook their hands in turn. Then turned to face Mrs. Weasley, who by that time was crying silently.
“Mrs. Weasley…” began Harry.
“Harry dear,” interrupted Mrs. Weasley, pulling Harry into a tight embrace. “We’re so happy you came.”
Harry felt tears welling up in the corners of his eyes as they began to burn. He continued to hug Mrs. Weasley, trying to put all of his remorse and love into their shared embrace. Finally Harry let go and followed everyone into the sitting room.
As Harry expected, the Weasley family and Hermione questioned him nonstop about where he has been and what he has been doing.
“But that’s nonsense,” interjected Mrs. Weasley, after Harry told them he had been living on his own at Grimmauld Place. “We have plenty of room here for you stay, why don’t you stay here for the summer until we figure out what you three will do about schooling.”
“I couldn’t do that Mrs. Weasley,” replied Harry, in a dull tone. “Besides, I’ve already met with Kingsley and he’s agreed to letting me not go back for my seventh year at Hogwarts, while Ron and Hermione go back.”
With this news, everyone looked outraged. Ron and Hermione were not pleased at all, protesting to both Harry and Kingsley. Meanwhile, Mrs. Weasley rounded on Kingsley.
“How could you let Harry not finish his schooling? He hasn’t taken any of his N.E.W.T.s yet; how will he get a job?” shrieked Mrs. Weasley.
“Mrs. Weasley, please calm down. Harry and I have worked everything out between us, and if Harry wishes to disclose that agreement, then so be it. But I do not have the right to proclaim Harry’s future without his permission, so please do not round on me,” replied Kingsley, with a defying tone in his voice.
Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth to retort, but caught sight of her husband and closed it in silence. Once Mrs. Weasley gave it up, everyone else gradually left it alone but nobody looked pleased. The afternoon continued to drag on, and with little to do, most people spent the long afternoon pacing the Burrow or sitting in silence. Harry, Ron and Hermione, on the other hand, were up in Ron’s room.
“How’ve you been?” asked Hermione, in a shaky voice.
“Alright, and you two?” replied Harry, looking at Ron, who was staring at his feet and mumbled something that sounded like “fine.”
“Considering everything, okay,” replied Hermione, glancing quickly at Ron. “Why didn’t you respond to our letters Harry, we were hoping you would?”
Harry felt a stab of pain in his chest, realizing that they forgot about Hedwig’s death completely.
“Hermione, don’t you remember?” replied Harry, in a chocked up voice. “Hedwig died last year…”
“Oh Harry, I’m so sorry, I completely forgot,” gasped Hermione, putting her hands up to her mouth.
“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”
Harry looked over at Ron, who had been silent this whole time. He was about to open his mouth when Harry felt a faint tingling in his scar. Harry’s hand shot up to his scar out of habit and fear. This was impossible, Harry thought, as the color drained from his face.
“Harry, what’s wrong?” asked Hermione who saw Harry rubbing his forehead.
“I…I…I don’t know,” stammered Harry, still in disbelief. “My scar just tingled.”
Harry looked up at the two. Ron, finally looking up from his feet, had his mouth hanging open, while Hermione was shaking her head.
“No, no Harry,” replied Hermione, refusing to believe him. “It can’t be, you killed him, and he is gone. You must’ve imagined it.”
Harry knew he didn’t imagine it. He’s been feeling pain in that scar for seven years, so he knew what it felt like. But he wasn’t about to argue over something that he did not wish to be true.
“Yeah,” concluded Harry. “I must’ve imagined it.”
At that moment, Mrs. Weasley knocked on the door and entered the room.
“The guests will be arriving soon, and I thought you all should go down to the kitchen and wait for them. When they arrive, I’d like for you two to guide them to their seats, while Ron gets ready for the funeral.”
The three of them followed Mrs. Weasley down the stairs into the kitchen and they sat down at the table. Harry wished he were alone, away from all of this misery. He wanted desperately to escape to Grimmauld Place and work out his fear. For he was sure he felt his scar twinge, and that only happened when Lord Voldemort was alive, but how?
It was getting closer to sunset and Harry, Hermione, and Kingsley were standing out in the yard waiting to show the soon arriving guests to their seats. Gazing out over the rolling hills surrounding the Burrow, Harry couldn’t help but appreciate the beauty of it all and repeated the words Dumbledore had once uttered to him: “To the well organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.” He hoped Fred was in peace wherever he was, as a silent tear slid down his cheek. Harry looked back towards the drive as faint pops were heard and guests began forming a line in front of them.
Harry felt very awkward leading the first of the long queue to their seats. Less than a year ago, Harry was doing the same thing except for Bill and Fleur’s wedding. He remembered Fred talking about his future wedding and how he would never bother with dressing up; and now here he was, at his own funeral.
Harry knew quite a few of the guests and was able to greet them as he seated them. Hagrid was one of the first to arrive, greeting Harry with a rib-crushing hug, and, like the wedding, was placed in the back row on reinforced seats. Fleur apparated next to her parents and sister, having just got out of work, and took them to their seats. As they passed Gabrielle waved at Harry; waving back, Harry saw her blush. Harry turned to face the line again and found himself face to face with the Lovegoods.
“Hello Harry,” said Luna in her airy voice.
“Hey Luna,” replied Harry, taking in her brilliant blue robes and radish earrings. “It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you too,” said Luna, staring off into the sky. “Oh, this will be a very blessed funeral. Look, the Winged Zonian Tularies are flying overhead.”
Harry looked up into the sky, following Luna’s outstretched hand and as usual, did not see anything. Her father, Xenophilius, however, pointed up along with Luna, making people behind them look into the sky trying to find what the Lovegoods were pointing at.
“Oh yes Luna,” exclaimed Xenophilius. “Zonians are said to make people feel smarter, luckier and blessed. This will be a consecrated funeral.”
Try to hide his grin; Harry led the Lovegoods to their seats. Coming back to the now smaller queue Harry had the displeasure of escorting Auntie Muriel to her seat.
“Hurry up boy, I’m one hundred and eight years old,” barked Auntie Muriel.
“Yes ma’am,” replied Harry, quickening his step.
“Why, I’ll be damned, if it isn’t Harry Potter,” said Muriel, looking up into Harry’s face for the first time. “So you really are a friend of Ronald’s, eh? I thought he had been boasting this whole time.”
“No, he wasn’t,” replied Harry in a bored voice.
After seating Muriel, Harry returned to the queue a few more times to escort the last of the Weasleys and friends to their chairs. After everybody was seated, Harry took his seat in the first row next to Hermione, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley. The chairs were all facing the sun, slowly setting behind the rolling hills. It was a beautiful evening and everything was tranquil, as though paying their last respects to Fred. Everyone was still, waiting for the funeral to start but not daring to utter a single word.
Then, just as the sun began disappearing behind the hills and the pink sky shown bright, music started playing from all corners of the Burrow, as if invisible speakers hung in midair. It was a slow song but neither sad nor happy; it was relieving. Harry listened to the music as Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, Ron, and Mr. Weasley carried Fred’s casket between the chairs to a stone table in front of the guests. There the six men set the casket down and stood back, staring at the casket; each one of them with silent tears streaming down their cheeks. At that moment, a wizard stepped up to the casket and tapped it once with his wand and said loud and clear, Homenum Restio. Fred’s casket lifted into the air, as though pulled up by invisible strings, and was slowly lowered into the earth as the last rays of sunlight hid behind the hills. The wizard then turned to face and address the audience.
“Fred Weasley was an accomplished and great wizard,” began the man. “He is not only known for his magical abilities but also for his superior personality, even in the face of danger.”
Harry felt tears welling up in his eyes, felt his insides clench like a fist. He couldn’t hold it back any longer. Hot, fresh tears poured down his cheeks, dripping into his lap. He remembered meeting Fred on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Recalled Fred and George giving him the Marauder’s Map in his third year at Hogwarts. He relived Fred risking his life as he turned into Harry last August, and Fred’s last moments in Hogwarts, fighting for him, Harry.
Harry did not hear the rest of eulogy; he could not stand to listen. Instead he looked over the setting of the funeral, feeling blessed to have been loved by such a family and cursed by bringing death to that same loving family. He looked around at the other guests, all bowing their heads, and knew that there was not a dry eye to be found.
“…So as we look out across this ostentatious setting, remember Fred Weasley,” finished the wizard.
And with one last wave of his wand, fresh dirt covered the casket, a headstone was placed on the mound of dirt, and ferns grew up from the ground. Then one by one, all the guests filed past the grave, wishing the Weasley family their sympathies and kissing the tombstone, which bore Fred’s name.
Harry gave each Weasley an emotional hug filled with tears and words of mourning and then passed over to the tombstone. Harry knelt down besides the tombstone and whispered so that nobody could hear.
“Thank you for everything you’ve done Fred. I would have never survived if you were not in my life. I’ll be seeing you…”
And with that, Harry straightened up and began walking towards the back row of seats and waited for the ceremony to be over. After the last guest paid their respects to the family, everyone either slowly left or talked to the family. Harry was trying to seek out Ron in the crowd of people when Ginny pulled Harry into the barn.
Ginny looked into Harry’s eyes and Harry could see the heartache and love within the depths of brown. He could not bear to tell her what he had to say but knew he had to. So taking a deep breath, he opened his mouth to talk. But Ginny placed a finger up to his lips and he closed his mouth.
“I know what you have to tell me,” began Ginny in a heartbroken voice. “And I understand that there is no more room for me in your heart. But I want you to know that I will always love you.”
Ginny’s eyes filled with tears and rested her head on Harry’s chest, listening to the heart that was once filled with love but was now filled with solitude.
“I wish it didn’t have to be this way,” whispered Harry, barely audible, even in the silent barn.
He pulled his hands slowly through Ginny’s hair and she sobbed into his chest. After a few minutes, Ginny pulled her head off of Harry’s chest and looked him in the eyes again, trying to say something but failing each time. Recognizing defeat, Ginny took one last deep breath, one last look into Harry’s eyes, turned and walked out of the barn.
Harry stared after her, listening to his heart pound against his rib cage. But he must ignore his hearts longing to make things better. He did not belong with Ginny; he did not belong with anyone. Harry slowly followed Ginny’s path out of the barn and stood alone in the dark yard. Everyone else had moved into the kitchen and sitting room. Harry could see Ron, Hermione and all the Weasleys through the window of the kitchen. Debating whether or not he should go into the kitchen, Harry looked up at the stars now overhead. They twinkled down at him, reminding him of the twinkle he once saw in Dumbledore’s eyes. Harry stared long and hard at those stars, making up his mind, looked down towards the Burrow. With one last look Harry turned around and began walking away, towards the town. The kitchen door opened and Ron and Hermione came running out trying to catch Harry.
“Harry!” shouted Ron. “Don’t go Harry!”
“Come back Harry!” screamed Hermione. “Don’t go, please!”
Harry turned to face his two best friends, running at him, begging him to stay with them. He took in one last look and turned on the spot, disappearing from view. Ron and Hermione stopped running, staring at the spot where Harry disapparated. After a few minutes of staring at the spot where Harry last stood, they walked back to the Burrow, hoping that they would see Harry on September 1st, if not sooner.
A/N:
My beta is sitll on vacation (she's really really lucky
), so this, again, has not been run through her yet. So if there are any drastic changes I will be sure to efit here and let you all know through this thread and my feedback thread. Speaking of feedback...please leave some, it is very much appreciated...you can find the feedback thread here or in my signature.Thanks for reading,
-Nick
HJP
Chapter 4
The Funeral
Harry spent the next three days in a blur, mainly staying in Grimmauld Place, helping Kreacher clean the house. But occasionally, he would go out to get a breath of fresh air, visiting places he missed terribly. And before he knew it, Harry woke up Saturday morning at dawn, dreading the day to come.
Harry entered the kitchen to the smell of marmalade and eggs and toast. The smell made his insides squirm with hunger. Harry sat down and bolted down his breakfast, meanwhile opening up the Daily Prophet.
After reading an article about Kingsley being the new Prime Minister, Harry turned the page to find himself staring at the Weasley family, all with their heads down with the title, Funeral for the Honored, page 5. Harry quickly flipped to page 5 where he began to read the article:
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has been vanquished
from the wizarding community by none other than
‘The Chosen One’. But amid all of the triumphs and
smiles, came heartache and tears. We may have found
peace at last, but it was at the price of wizards and witches
of all ages and characters. During the final battle at Hogwarts
a terrible lost was sustained to the honored Weasley family and
friend Harry Potter; Fred Weasley was killed in battle. Fighting
along side of Harry, Fred never gave in to tyranny and never
gave up. He joins those elite, who conquered fear of death, who
mastered bravery, and who honored equality. For all those
who knew Fred; they would remind you not to cry, for that’s
not what Fred would have wanted. Fred will be remembered
as a friend, a family member, and a freedom fighter.
Harry finished reading the article and laid down the newspaper softly, as if afraid to damage the kind words about Fred. He felt tears well up in his eyes and was glad that nobody was around to see him.
All the remorse and guilt he felt, all the anger and frustration was pouring out of him. He could still picture Fred lying crumpled under rock and debris, with a blank stare within his eyes. It was all his fault; he should have never let anyone get involved. Harry sat there, staring at the table, letting wave after wave of emotions roll over him, while tears splashed against the polished wood beneath him.
Harry glanced at the clock as it chimed, telling he occupants of Grimmauld Place that it was 8 o’clock. Kreacher hustled over to the table, picked up the dishes and began to wash them in the sink; meanwhile Harry headed upstairs to clean up and get ready for the funeral.
Overcast skies passed over the Burrow; befitting of the somberness that was cast over the residence. The chickens clucked slow and sadly, as then walked around the front yard, picking for any food left on the ground. The gnomes were taking refuge in the boots, strewn across the yard, hoping to find shelter for the day. Hermione and Ginny were hanging the laundry and setting up seats in the orchard for the funeral later that day. Inside, Mrs. Weasley was cleaning everything within reach, sometimes more than once. Mr. Weasley was in the sitting room talking to Kingsley about Ministry procedures and discussing the arrangement of new muggle protection laws. Percy, George, Bill, Charley, and Ron were all in the attic, cleaning out old boxes, looking for photographs of Fred when he was younger. All in all, the mood at the Burrow was sad and silent.
They were expecting the guests to start arriving later that day, closer to sunset. As the morning dragged on, nobody said more than two words to each other. Mrs. Weasley made lunch around noon and set out eleven plates in hopes that Harry would come for lunch, but he did not.
After lunch, there was not much to do, so everyone sat around the sitting room, waiting. Ron glanced at the clock as it stroked 2 o’clock. Just then, he heard a distant pop from the front yard. Ron looked up quickly and everybody looked up at him.
“Something wrong, Ron?” asked Mrs. Weasley.
“I thought I heard something in the front yard,” replied Ron, slowly getting up.
With nothing else to do, everyone followed Ron to the kitchen door and looked out onto the front yard. There, standing in black robes and wearing a somber look on his face, was Harry Potter.
“Harry!” screamed Ginny, running forward, colliding with him in a tight embrace.
“Hi Ginny,” muttered Harry, feeling worse than ever.
Ginny let go of Harry and both walked towards the house where the Weasley family stood, smiling at Harry. Hermione was the second to rush forward, followed closely by Ron. Both embraced Harry, and Harry found it hard to let go. Harry approached Mr. Weasley, George, Bill, Charlie and Kingsley and shook their hands in turn. Then turned to face Mrs. Weasley, who by that time was crying silently.
“Mrs. Weasley…” began Harry.
“Harry dear,” interrupted Mrs. Weasley, pulling Harry into a tight embrace. “We’re so happy you came.”
Harry felt tears welling up in the corners of his eyes as they began to burn. He continued to hug Mrs. Weasley, trying to put all of his remorse and love into their shared embrace. Finally Harry let go and followed everyone into the sitting room.
As Harry expected, the Weasley family and Hermione questioned him nonstop about where he has been and what he has been doing.
“But that’s nonsense,” interjected Mrs. Weasley, after Harry told them he had been living on his own at Grimmauld Place. “We have plenty of room here for you stay, why don’t you stay here for the summer until we figure out what you three will do about schooling.”
“I couldn’t do that Mrs. Weasley,” replied Harry, in a dull tone. “Besides, I’ve already met with Kingsley and he’s agreed to letting me not go back for my seventh year at Hogwarts, while Ron and Hermione go back.”
With this news, everyone looked outraged. Ron and Hermione were not pleased at all, protesting to both Harry and Kingsley. Meanwhile, Mrs. Weasley rounded on Kingsley.
“How could you let Harry not finish his schooling? He hasn’t taken any of his N.E.W.T.s yet; how will he get a job?” shrieked Mrs. Weasley.
“Mrs. Weasley, please calm down. Harry and I have worked everything out between us, and if Harry wishes to disclose that agreement, then so be it. But I do not have the right to proclaim Harry’s future without his permission, so please do not round on me,” replied Kingsley, with a defying tone in his voice.
Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth to retort, but caught sight of her husband and closed it in silence. Once Mrs. Weasley gave it up, everyone else gradually left it alone but nobody looked pleased. The afternoon continued to drag on, and with little to do, most people spent the long afternoon pacing the Burrow or sitting in silence. Harry, Ron and Hermione, on the other hand, were up in Ron’s room.
“How’ve you been?” asked Hermione, in a shaky voice.
“Alright, and you two?” replied Harry, looking at Ron, who was staring at his feet and mumbled something that sounded like “fine.”
“Considering everything, okay,” replied Hermione, glancing quickly at Ron. “Why didn’t you respond to our letters Harry, we were hoping you would?”
Harry felt a stab of pain in his chest, realizing that they forgot about Hedwig’s death completely.
“Hermione, don’t you remember?” replied Harry, in a chocked up voice. “Hedwig died last year…”
“Oh Harry, I’m so sorry, I completely forgot,” gasped Hermione, putting her hands up to her mouth.
“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”
Harry looked over at Ron, who had been silent this whole time. He was about to open his mouth when Harry felt a faint tingling in his scar. Harry’s hand shot up to his scar out of habit and fear. This was impossible, Harry thought, as the color drained from his face.
“Harry, what’s wrong?” asked Hermione who saw Harry rubbing his forehead.
“I…I…I don’t know,” stammered Harry, still in disbelief. “My scar just tingled.”
Harry looked up at the two. Ron, finally looking up from his feet, had his mouth hanging open, while Hermione was shaking her head.
“No, no Harry,” replied Hermione, refusing to believe him. “It can’t be, you killed him, and he is gone. You must’ve imagined it.”
Harry knew he didn’t imagine it. He’s been feeling pain in that scar for seven years, so he knew what it felt like. But he wasn’t about to argue over something that he did not wish to be true.
“Yeah,” concluded Harry. “I must’ve imagined it.”
At that moment, Mrs. Weasley knocked on the door and entered the room.
“The guests will be arriving soon, and I thought you all should go down to the kitchen and wait for them. When they arrive, I’d like for you two to guide them to their seats, while Ron gets ready for the funeral.”
The three of them followed Mrs. Weasley down the stairs into the kitchen and they sat down at the table. Harry wished he were alone, away from all of this misery. He wanted desperately to escape to Grimmauld Place and work out his fear. For he was sure he felt his scar twinge, and that only happened when Lord Voldemort was alive, but how?
It was getting closer to sunset and Harry, Hermione, and Kingsley were standing out in the yard waiting to show the soon arriving guests to their seats. Gazing out over the rolling hills surrounding the Burrow, Harry couldn’t help but appreciate the beauty of it all and repeated the words Dumbledore had once uttered to him: “To the well organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.” He hoped Fred was in peace wherever he was, as a silent tear slid down his cheek. Harry looked back towards the drive as faint pops were heard and guests began forming a line in front of them.
Harry felt very awkward leading the first of the long queue to their seats. Less than a year ago, Harry was doing the same thing except for Bill and Fleur’s wedding. He remembered Fred talking about his future wedding and how he would never bother with dressing up; and now here he was, at his own funeral.
Harry knew quite a few of the guests and was able to greet them as he seated them. Hagrid was one of the first to arrive, greeting Harry with a rib-crushing hug, and, like the wedding, was placed in the back row on reinforced seats. Fleur apparated next to her parents and sister, having just got out of work, and took them to their seats. As they passed Gabrielle waved at Harry; waving back, Harry saw her blush. Harry turned to face the line again and found himself face to face with the Lovegoods.
“Hello Harry,” said Luna in her airy voice.
“Hey Luna,” replied Harry, taking in her brilliant blue robes and radish earrings. “It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you too,” said Luna, staring off into the sky. “Oh, this will be a very blessed funeral. Look, the Winged Zonian Tularies are flying overhead.”
Harry looked up into the sky, following Luna’s outstretched hand and as usual, did not see anything. Her father, Xenophilius, however, pointed up along with Luna, making people behind them look into the sky trying to find what the Lovegoods were pointing at.
“Oh yes Luna,” exclaimed Xenophilius. “Zonians are said to make people feel smarter, luckier and blessed. This will be a consecrated funeral.”
Try to hide his grin; Harry led the Lovegoods to their seats. Coming back to the now smaller queue Harry had the displeasure of escorting Auntie Muriel to her seat.
“Hurry up boy, I’m one hundred and eight years old,” barked Auntie Muriel.
“Yes ma’am,” replied Harry, quickening his step.
“Why, I’ll be damned, if it isn’t Harry Potter,” said Muriel, looking up into Harry’s face for the first time. “So you really are a friend of Ronald’s, eh? I thought he had been boasting this whole time.”
“No, he wasn’t,” replied Harry in a bored voice.
After seating Muriel, Harry returned to the queue a few more times to escort the last of the Weasleys and friends to their chairs. After everybody was seated, Harry took his seat in the first row next to Hermione, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley. The chairs were all facing the sun, slowly setting behind the rolling hills. It was a beautiful evening and everything was tranquil, as though paying their last respects to Fred. Everyone was still, waiting for the funeral to start but not daring to utter a single word.
Then, just as the sun began disappearing behind the hills and the pink sky shown bright, music started playing from all corners of the Burrow, as if invisible speakers hung in midair. It was a slow song but neither sad nor happy; it was relieving. Harry listened to the music as Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, Ron, and Mr. Weasley carried Fred’s casket between the chairs to a stone table in front of the guests. There the six men set the casket down and stood back, staring at the casket; each one of them with silent tears streaming down their cheeks. At that moment, a wizard stepped up to the casket and tapped it once with his wand and said loud and clear, Homenum Restio. Fred’s casket lifted into the air, as though pulled up by invisible strings, and was slowly lowered into the earth as the last rays of sunlight hid behind the hills. The wizard then turned to face and address the audience.
“Fred Weasley was an accomplished and great wizard,” began the man. “He is not only known for his magical abilities but also for his superior personality, even in the face of danger.”
Harry felt tears welling up in his eyes, felt his insides clench like a fist. He couldn’t hold it back any longer. Hot, fresh tears poured down his cheeks, dripping into his lap. He remembered meeting Fred on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Recalled Fred and George giving him the Marauder’s Map in his third year at Hogwarts. He relived Fred risking his life as he turned into Harry last August, and Fred’s last moments in Hogwarts, fighting for him, Harry.
Harry did not hear the rest of eulogy; he could not stand to listen. Instead he looked over the setting of the funeral, feeling blessed to have been loved by such a family and cursed by bringing death to that same loving family. He looked around at the other guests, all bowing their heads, and knew that there was not a dry eye to be found.
“…So as we look out across this ostentatious setting, remember Fred Weasley,” finished the wizard.
And with one last wave of his wand, fresh dirt covered the casket, a headstone was placed on the mound of dirt, and ferns grew up from the ground. Then one by one, all the guests filed past the grave, wishing the Weasley family their sympathies and kissing the tombstone, which bore Fred’s name.
Harry gave each Weasley an emotional hug filled with tears and words of mourning and then passed over to the tombstone. Harry knelt down besides the tombstone and whispered so that nobody could hear.
“Thank you for everything you’ve done Fred. I would have never survived if you were not in my life. I’ll be seeing you…”
And with that, Harry straightened up and began walking towards the back row of seats and waited for the ceremony to be over. After the last guest paid their respects to the family, everyone either slowly left or talked to the family. Harry was trying to seek out Ron in the crowd of people when Ginny pulled Harry into the barn.
Ginny looked into Harry’s eyes and Harry could see the heartache and love within the depths of brown. He could not bear to tell her what he had to say but knew he had to. So taking a deep breath, he opened his mouth to talk. But Ginny placed a finger up to his lips and he closed his mouth.
“I know what you have to tell me,” began Ginny in a heartbroken voice. “And I understand that there is no more room for me in your heart. But I want you to know that I will always love you.”
Ginny’s eyes filled with tears and rested her head on Harry’s chest, listening to the heart that was once filled with love but was now filled with solitude.
“I wish it didn’t have to be this way,” whispered Harry, barely audible, even in the silent barn.
He pulled his hands slowly through Ginny’s hair and she sobbed into his chest. After a few minutes, Ginny pulled her head off of Harry’s chest and looked him in the eyes again, trying to say something but failing each time. Recognizing defeat, Ginny took one last deep breath, one last look into Harry’s eyes, turned and walked out of the barn.
Harry stared after her, listening to his heart pound against his rib cage. But he must ignore his hearts longing to make things better. He did not belong with Ginny; he did not belong with anyone. Harry slowly followed Ginny’s path out of the barn and stood alone in the dark yard. Everyone else had moved into the kitchen and sitting room. Harry could see Ron, Hermione and all the Weasleys through the window of the kitchen. Debating whether or not he should go into the kitchen, Harry looked up at the stars now overhead. They twinkled down at him, reminding him of the twinkle he once saw in Dumbledore’s eyes. Harry stared long and hard at those stars, making up his mind, looked down towards the Burrow. With one last look Harry turned around and began walking away, towards the town. The kitchen door opened and Ron and Hermione came running out trying to catch Harry.
“Harry!” shouted Ron. “Don’t go Harry!”
“Come back Harry!” screamed Hermione. “Don’t go, please!”
Harry turned to face his two best friends, running at him, begging him to stay with them. He took in one last look and turned on the spot, disappearing from view. Ron and Hermione stopped running, staring at the spot where Harry disapparated. After a few minutes of staring at the spot where Harry last stood, they walked back to the Burrow, hoping that they would see Harry on September 1st, if not sooner.
Hey guys, I'm sorry for the wait. I've found that when one gets writers block, it is very hard to get rid of it. But I did and here is Chapter 5. Chapter 6 is on the way, but I will be away from a computer all weekend so it'll be sometime mid-next week when it comes out. Feed back is always appreciated! 
Enjoy,
-Nick
HJP
A fox skirted up the narrow, moonlit lane, staying close to a high, manicured hedge. It ran along the hedge until it met a driveway, and ran up the driveway. Passing through the iron gates, the fox sprinted the rest of the driveway and through a small hole in the side of the manor, hidden behind a shrub.
Once inside, the fox was nowhere to be found. Instead, Barty Crouch Jr. was leaning against a banister, drumming his fingers impatiently. He looked around the foyer; it was impeccably clean, covered with black paint and s tone floor with a rich rug covering most of it. The walls had a couple of mirrors on them and some portraits of famous dark wizards and family ancestors. There was a grand staircase opposite of the front door and at least six wooden doors leading out of the foyer. Barty Crouch Jr. looked up and stared at the glistening chandelier, spreading a dim light throughout the manor. He heard soft footsteps coming down the stairs and looked at them immediately. Descending down the stairs was a wizard who was wearing elegant, black robes, sporting a cane, and had shoulder length blonde hair. Lucius Malfoy was walking downstairs to greet an old friend.
“Barty Crouch Jr.” greeted Lucius. “How are you my old friend?”
“Fine, fine,” replied Crouch impatiently. “Lucius, we need to talk, now.”
Lucius looked Barty Crouch Jr. up and down. Grinning to himself he held out an arm in the direction of one of the wooden doors. Barty Crouch Jr. glanced at Lucius, and then led the way to the door. Lucius looked behind him, making sure nobody saw them, and then followed swinging the door behind him.
Draco peered out from behind a different door, appalled at what he’d just seen. He shook his head, thinking it was a mistake. For her thought that he just saw Barty Crouch Jr. walk through the door. Draco stared at the door swinging shut and to his relief; it didn’t shut all the way, leaving a small crack for him to peer through. Slowly making his way over to the door, he kneeled down and gazed through the crack.
“Lucius,” said Crouch quickly, “are you not surprised to see me?”
“Not at all my dear friend, now please have a seat while I light the fire,” replied Lucius.
Lucius point his wand at the fire and with a small flick; flames erupted in the grate adding a flickering light to the room and well as warmth. Barty slowly lowered himself into one of the chairs by the fire and eyed Lucius carefully, as he poured out two drinks of amber-colored liquid. Handing one of the glasses to Barty, Lucius sat down in the chair opposite him.
“You’re not surprised to see me?” asked Barty in an appalled voice.
“Of course not,” replied Lucius silkily, sipping on his drink.
“B-b-but, the last time you saw me I was soulless, was I not?” Barty asked, again in disbelief.
“Actually the last time I saw you was when your soul was returned to you,” replied Lucius, smiling.
Barty was staring at Lucius in disbelief. Does this mean that it was Lucius who brought him back? He could see the grin spread across Lucius’ face as the light from the fire flickered across his face.
“No need to look so surprised Barty,” said Lucius, grinning as he saw the confusion in Barty’s face. “I am the only free Death Eater left, that is besides you.”
Draco listened very carefully outside the door; he could not believe his ears. He slipped on the stone floor and made a small noise. Quickly recovering, he hid from view, however no one came or questioned the noise.
“I recalled your fate and thought to myself, ‘I should go revive my fellow Death Eater, in my last respect towards the Dark Lord,’” recited Lucius as though he did it all yesterday. “So I went in search of where you had ended up. I found you in the ‘Lost Cases’ ward at St. Mungo’s.”
“I was in St. Mungo’s the whole time?” interrupted Barty.
“Yes, don’t interrupt me again,” replied Lucius in a deadly whisper. “Now then, I found you in St. Mungo’s and at the time I was losing hope fast. The Dementor’s Kiss, no one has returned from that, not even Saint Potter. I was about to leave when your Healer came into the ward and I decided to ask her if there was any possible way of returning the victims to their normal state.”
Lucius took a sip out of his glass, while enjoying the stunned look on Barty’s face. Taking his time, he refilled his glass full of amber liquid and sat back down.
“Your healer told me that there was no hope at all of returning the soul once it has been taken,” continued Lucius. “However, she did tell me that she had heard of a complicated and dangerous method of killing a dementor and returning those souls that it had taken back to its victims. When I asked more about it, all she could tell me was that she had heard the rumor was started in Albania but that it was just a rumor and nothing more. So naturally, I set off to Albania; to see if this was in fact, more than a rumor.”
So that’s where my father went, thought Draco. He couldn’t believe that his father returned to the Dark Arts after what had happened not even a month ago. Draco heard whispers again and turned to look through the crack, when he knocked over a table in the hall.
Draco froze with fear as he heard the voices stop and heard footsteps draw closer. The door opened and Lucius and Barty stared down at Draco. Barty drew his wand and pointed it at Draco.
“We should teach your son not to listen to other people’s conversations,” sneered Barty to Lucius. Then looking at Draco, “You need to learn how to respect your superiors…”
“Barty,” interjected Lucius, but staring down at his son, “I think it would be wise for you to leave now.”
Barty looked at Lucius then at Draco. He didn’t want to leave, he wanted to hear more about Lucius’ discovery, but because of this kid he would have to wait. He wanted to punish the foolish child but with another look at Lucius, decided that he would take his leave.
“I will be back Lucius to finish this little chat,” said Barty with a little bite to it. And with one last look at Draco and a quick nod to Lucius, he left.
Draco stood up; breathing fast he shot a dirty look at his father, turned and began walking towards the stairs.
“Just a minute,” said Lucius, walking over to his son. “Draco, need I remind you to stay out of my affairs. It is bad enough that you are too afraid to live up to the Dark Mark on your arm, but to intrude on matters that are not for your ears?”
“Your affairs,” replied Draco as his anger rose. “You nearly got all of us killed and didn’t even fight for Him at Hogwarts and you still want to bring him back!”
Lucius stared into Draco’s gray eyes, and saw the anger rising within them. But his son did not understand and therefore he would forgive him, this time.
“Draco, what I do is for me to decide. I never want to see you listening to my private conversations again. Now get to your room and not another word.”
Draco opened his mouth to say something but caught the glare in his father’s eyes and knew there was no use arguing. Turning on his heel, Draco stormed up the stairs and disappeared from view.
Lucius watched his son climb the staircase and walked over to the window looking out over his front lawn. He watched a fox skirt across the lawn, lit up by the moonlight. Soon, he thought, soon his master would return and praise him above all others. With this in mind, he slowly climbed the stairs and went to bed.
*********
Professor McGonagall was sitting at her desk in Hogwarts, staring at a letter from the Minister.
Minerva-
Harry and the School Governors have met to decide on a new headmaster for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. After meeting, they have decided to offer you the position one more time, in hopes that you would accept. I too, would like to encourage you to take up the position.
Sincerely,
Kingsley Shacklebolt
Minister of Magic
She had decided to take up the position after denying the request at first. However, what she was thinking about wasn’t becoming Headmistress; she was thinking about Harry Potter. She had just found out that he would not be coming back to Hogwarts for his seventh year and was in the process of writing him to request that he do exactly the opposite. But not now, she thought, for it was getting late and she couldn’t hold off sleeping any longer. So she got up from her desk and began walking back to her sleeping quarters. As she walked through the moonlit hallways of Hogwarts, she thought about how many times Potter has saved the school and its inhabitants from danger. She passed a suit of armor that still had not been repaired and made a mental note to fix it tomorrow with Professor Flitwick’s help. Reaching her destination, she thought that it would be nice, for a change, to not have Lord Voldemort threatening the school.
Chapter 6 is on the way, but I will be away from a computer all weekend so it'll be sometime mid-next week when it comes out. Feed back is always appreciated! Enjoy,
-Nick
HJP
Chapter 5
Allies Reunited
Allies Reunited
A fox skirted up the narrow, moonlit lane, staying close to a high, manicured hedge. It ran along the hedge until it met a driveway, and ran up the driveway. Passing through the iron gates, the fox sprinted the rest of the driveway and through a small hole in the side of the manor, hidden behind a shrub.
Once inside, the fox was nowhere to be found. Instead, Barty Crouch Jr. was leaning against a banister, drumming his fingers impatiently. He looked around the foyer; it was impeccably clean, covered with black paint and s tone floor with a rich rug covering most of it. The walls had a couple of mirrors on them and some portraits of famous dark wizards and family ancestors. There was a grand staircase opposite of the front door and at least six wooden doors leading out of the foyer. Barty Crouch Jr. looked up and stared at the glistening chandelier, spreading a dim light throughout the manor. He heard soft footsteps coming down the stairs and looked at them immediately. Descending down the stairs was a wizard who was wearing elegant, black robes, sporting a cane, and had shoulder length blonde hair. Lucius Malfoy was walking downstairs to greet an old friend.
“Barty Crouch Jr.” greeted Lucius. “How are you my old friend?”
“Fine, fine,” replied Crouch impatiently. “Lucius, we need to talk, now.”
Lucius looked Barty Crouch Jr. up and down. Grinning to himself he held out an arm in the direction of one of the wooden doors. Barty Crouch Jr. glanced at Lucius, and then led the way to the door. Lucius looked behind him, making sure nobody saw them, and then followed swinging the door behind him.
Draco peered out from behind a different door, appalled at what he’d just seen. He shook his head, thinking it was a mistake. For her thought that he just saw Barty Crouch Jr. walk through the door. Draco stared at the door swinging shut and to his relief; it didn’t shut all the way, leaving a small crack for him to peer through. Slowly making his way over to the door, he kneeled down and gazed through the crack.
“Lucius,” said Crouch quickly, “are you not surprised to see me?”
“Not at all my dear friend, now please have a seat while I light the fire,” replied Lucius.
Lucius point his wand at the fire and with a small flick; flames erupted in the grate adding a flickering light to the room and well as warmth. Barty slowly lowered himself into one of the chairs by the fire and eyed Lucius carefully, as he poured out two drinks of amber-colored liquid. Handing one of the glasses to Barty, Lucius sat down in the chair opposite him.
“You’re not surprised to see me?” asked Barty in an appalled voice.
“Of course not,” replied Lucius silkily, sipping on his drink.
“B-b-but, the last time you saw me I was soulless, was I not?” Barty asked, again in disbelief.
“Actually the last time I saw you was when your soul was returned to you,” replied Lucius, smiling.
Barty was staring at Lucius in disbelief. Does this mean that it was Lucius who brought him back? He could see the grin spread across Lucius’ face as the light from the fire flickered across his face.
“No need to look so surprised Barty,” said Lucius, grinning as he saw the confusion in Barty’s face. “I am the only free Death Eater left, that is besides you.”
Draco listened very carefully outside the door; he could not believe his ears. He slipped on the stone floor and made a small noise. Quickly recovering, he hid from view, however no one came or questioned the noise.
“I recalled your fate and thought to myself, ‘I should go revive my fellow Death Eater, in my last respect towards the Dark Lord,’” recited Lucius as though he did it all yesterday. “So I went in search of where you had ended up. I found you in the ‘Lost Cases’ ward at St. Mungo’s.”
“I was in St. Mungo’s the whole time?” interrupted Barty.
“Yes, don’t interrupt me again,” replied Lucius in a deadly whisper. “Now then, I found you in St. Mungo’s and at the time I was losing hope fast. The Dementor’s Kiss, no one has returned from that, not even Saint Potter. I was about to leave when your Healer came into the ward and I decided to ask her if there was any possible way of returning the victims to their normal state.”
Lucius took a sip out of his glass, while enjoying the stunned look on Barty’s face. Taking his time, he refilled his glass full of amber liquid and sat back down.
“Your healer told me that there was no hope at all of returning the soul once it has been taken,” continued Lucius. “However, she did tell me that she had heard of a complicated and dangerous method of killing a dementor and returning those souls that it had taken back to its victims. When I asked more about it, all she could tell me was that she had heard the rumor was started in Albania but that it was just a rumor and nothing more. So naturally, I set off to Albania; to see if this was in fact, more than a rumor.”
So that’s where my father went, thought Draco. He couldn’t believe that his father returned to the Dark Arts after what had happened not even a month ago. Draco heard whispers again and turned to look through the crack, when he knocked over a table in the hall.
Draco froze with fear as he heard the voices stop and heard footsteps draw closer. The door opened and Lucius and Barty stared down at Draco. Barty drew his wand and pointed it at Draco.
“We should teach your son not to listen to other people’s conversations,” sneered Barty to Lucius. Then looking at Draco, “You need to learn how to respect your superiors…”
“Barty,” interjected Lucius, but staring down at his son, “I think it would be wise for you to leave now.”
Barty looked at Lucius then at Draco. He didn’t want to leave, he wanted to hear more about Lucius’ discovery, but because of this kid he would have to wait. He wanted to punish the foolish child but with another look at Lucius, decided that he would take his leave.
“I will be back Lucius to finish this little chat,” said Barty with a little bite to it. And with one last look at Draco and a quick nod to Lucius, he left.
Draco stood up; breathing fast he shot a dirty look at his father, turned and began walking towards the stairs.
“Just a minute,” said Lucius, walking over to his son. “Draco, need I remind you to stay out of my affairs. It is bad enough that you are too afraid to live up to the Dark Mark on your arm, but to intrude on matters that are not for your ears?”
“Your affairs,” replied Draco as his anger rose. “You nearly got all of us killed and didn’t even fight for Him at Hogwarts and you still want to bring him back!”
Lucius stared into Draco’s gray eyes, and saw the anger rising within them. But his son did not understand and therefore he would forgive him, this time.
“Draco, what I do is for me to decide. I never want to see you listening to my private conversations again. Now get to your room and not another word.”
Draco opened his mouth to say something but caught the glare in his father’s eyes and knew there was no use arguing. Turning on his heel, Draco stormed up the stairs and disappeared from view.
Lucius watched his son climb the staircase and walked over to the window looking out over his front lawn. He watched a fox skirt across the lawn, lit up by the moonlight. Soon, he thought, soon his master would return and praise him above all others. With this in mind, he slowly climbed the stairs and went to bed.
*********
Professor McGonagall was sitting at her desk in Hogwarts, staring at a letter from the Minister.
Minerva-
Harry and the School Governors have met to decide on a new headmaster for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. After meeting, they have decided to offer you the position one more time, in hopes that you would accept. I too, would like to encourage you to take up the position.
Sincerely,
Kingsley Shacklebolt
Minister of Magic
She had decided to take up the position after denying the request at first. However, what she was thinking about wasn’t becoming Headmistress; she was thinking about Harry Potter. She had just found out that he would not be coming back to Hogwarts for his seventh year and was in the process of writing him to request that he do exactly the opposite. But not now, she thought, for it was getting late and she couldn’t hold off sleeping any longer. So she got up from her desk and began walking back to her sleeping quarters. As she walked through the moonlit hallways of Hogwarts, she thought about how many times Potter has saved the school and its inhabitants from danger. She passed a suit of armor that still had not been repaired and made a mental note to fix it tomorrow with Professor Flitwick’s help. Reaching her destination, she thought that it would be nice, for a change, to not have Lord Voldemort threatening the school.
Okay, here it is, Chapter 6 of Harry's little adventure. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do. Chapter 7 has already been started on and is almost done, so it won't be long for that chapter as well. I would again, like to thank my beta Just the Droobles for her help
Without further ado...
Harry had just woken up from another one of his dreams in the Forest of Dean. Wiping the sweat off his brow, he sat up and looked around his room. He could not understand why he kept on having these dreams that lead him into the Forest of Dean, especially when they were involving Lord Voldemort. Frustrated with himself, Harry got out of bed and went down to the kitchen.
Harry walked into the kitchen to the smell of fresh oatmeal and buttered toast. Sitting himself down at the table, he opened up The Daily Prophet and began to read the morning news. Harry was halfway through an article about cauldron thickness when his hand raced up to his lightning bolt scar. It happened again; he felt a tingling in his scar. Fear spread throughout his body, leaving his limbs numb and his mouth dry. How could this be possible? Happening twice in one week and no rational explanation other than Lord Voldemort’s return was not very comforting to him. At that moment, the doorbell rang. Harry got up quickly and went to the front door. Harry opened the door and was surprised to see Arthur Weasley there.
“Hello Harry,” said Mr. Weasley in a welcoming voice.
“Hi Mr. Weasley,” replied Harry, feeling quite awkward. “Er…Can I help you with something?”
“Yes you can,” replied Mr. Weasley in a distracted voice, for his attention was drawn away by a muggle car passing by. “Why don’t you let me in and we’ll talk over a nice cup of tea?”
“Oh…yeah. Come on in,” said Harry.
Mr. Weasley stepped inside and led the way to the kitchen, as Harry closed the door. Harry caught up with Mr. Weasley, to find him sitting down at the kitchen table, accepting a cup of tea from Kreacher. Taking a sip, he turned to look at Harry.
“Harry, I came here to try and persuade you to come back to Hogwarts,” said Mr. Weasley, eyeing Harry carefully.
Harry was afraid that Mr. Weasley would bring this up. He could not stand to go against the Weasleys, his favorite family in the world, but they did not understand.
“I…I’m sorry…” began Harry, but stopped when he saw Mr. Weasley hold up his hand.
“I know why you think you should not go back,” said Mr. Weasley. “But I would like you to hear me out first.”
Mr. Weasley looked at Harry and waited for him to concede the conversation to him. Only when Harry sat back in his chair and drank from his tea, did Mr. Weasley continue.
“I realize how you feel. You feel responsible for those deaths that occurred at Hogwarts. You feel stripped after seeing Lupin, Tonks, and Fred. But they knew what they signed up for and would not allow you to throw your life away on their behalf. I want you to know that whatever it is you plan on doing, it can wait, at least one more year. Finish your education and then that time off to figure things out. But it would be a real shame to let you future slip away because you did not finish your schooling,” said Mr. Weasley, looking directly at Harry.
“Mr. Weasley, it’s not that I…” replied Harry, choosing his words carefully. “…don’t want to finish my education, but right now there is something else bothering me. Something that until today, I have ignored but at last I have decided to figure what it means.”
“And what is this ‘something’?” asked Mr. Weasley curiously.
“I wish I could tell you, honestly. But I think that it should only involve me, at least for the time being.”
“Are you sure I cannot help?”
“Yes…I’m sure.”
Mr. Weasley stared at Harry, trying to find out what was wrong. Studying him under his gaze, seeing if there was any reason for Harry not to be left alone. Recognizing defeat, Mr. Weasley lowered his gaze and took his last swig of tea.
“Listen Harry, if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to come to me,” said Mr. Weasley, making sure that Harry understood.
“Thank you Mr. Weasley,” replied Harry.
Mr. Weasley gave Harry one last sweeping look, shook his hand and left the kitchen. Harry sat down at the table and listened to the front door open, then close, and heard a faint pop from outside. He wished that he could tell Mr. Weasley where he had decided to go, but he did not want him to ask questions. After all, how would he have reacted if Harry told him that he was going to the Forest of Dean because he has a feeling Lord Voldemort was back again?
Harry drank the last of his tea, thanked Kreacher and went up to his bedroom. There, he changed into muggle clothing and collected his wand. Going to the front door, he told Kreacher he would be out all day today and would return around dinnertime. Stepping outside into the square, he pictured the Forest of Dean that he knew so well from his dreams, turned on the spot and vanished with a pop.
--------------------------------------------
Harry reappeared in the middle of a small clearing, surrounded by trees. Sunlight was streaming through the leaves and a slight breeze floated through the tops of the trees. Harry looked around and recognized the markings on one of the surrounding trees as the ones from his dreams; he knew exactly where he was.
Walking at a brisk pace, Harry let his feet guide him along the familiar path, not knowing what he was going to encounter. After a few minutes walk, the trees began to grow thicker together and it was harder to see what lied ahead. Harry continued along the deer path through a bunch of brambles, and came out into a clearing. This was the clearing he had been to before. There was the lake, with its black, glossy surface reflecting the sun’s light. Harry scanned around the edge of the lake and found the tree that harbors Lord Voldemort in his dreams. He looked around, wary of his surroundings, and slowly made his way toward the tree.
Harry approached the tree and took refuge in its shade. Looking around, he saw no evidence that anyone was here. In fact, it looked like no one has visited the clearing in years. Harry breathed a sigh of relief and sat down at the trunk of the tree. Harry watched a leaf float down towards the surface of the lake, and gazed at the ripples made by the leaf. His eyes followed the ripples from the center of the lake all the way to the shore he was sitting at. It was then that he saw something, reflecting the light from the sun, under the surface. Harry was hesitant at first, remembering what dangers can lie within foreign objects. But he shrugged it off, thinking that nobody would put anything dangerous out here; after all, this was a muggle forest. Harry put his hand in the water and retrieved what looked like, a metal box. However, there was rust and algae covering most of the surface, making it hard to hold onto.
Harry turned over the box and spotted the clasp that held it shut, but there was a lock on it. He muttered alohamora and the lock sprung open. Opening the box slowly, he noticed it was full of articles and pictures. The articles mainly consisted of news about Lord Voldemort, but some were of the ex-ministry employee, Barty Crouch. Looking through the photos, Harry saw that they mainly consisted of Barty Crouch Jr. and fellow Death Eaters. He was flipping through some of the older photos when a shadow was cast over him. Looking up, his stomach clinched like fist and his head screamed with confusion and pain, as someone yelled crucio.
Harry was screaming, his limbs were on fire, his body was shaking, and his head was pounding. He wanted it to end, wanted the pain to leave him. Just as he thought he could take no more before dying, the pain stopped and he lay still, face down in the grass.
“Get up Harry Potter,” whispered a voice so familiar, but Harry could not remember whom it belonged to. “Get up and look at me Harry.”
Harry lifted his head and looked towards the stranger standing in the blinding sun. Blinking a few times, Harry realized his glasses were lying next to his hand. He put them on and looked back at his attacker, only to have his stomach drop and mouth dry out. He was staring into the face of Barty Crouch Jr.
“No…”gasped Harry. “No…no…this can’t be possible, you’re…you’re dead.”
“Ahh,” replied Barty, his voice barely even a whisper. “I think you’ll find that I am anything but dead. Crucio!”
Harry felt pain beyond pain. His heart was beating against his rib cage, trying to burst out of his chest. And then, just as it had come, it was gone and Harry felt his head hit the ground and all went black.
***************************************
Please remember to leave some feedback
-Nick
HJP
Chapter 7 has already been started on and is almost done, so it won't be long for that chapter as well. I would again, like to thank my beta Just the Droobles for her help Without further ado...
Chapter 6
The Forest of Dean
The Forest of Dean
Harry had just woken up from another one of his dreams in the Forest of Dean. Wiping the sweat off his brow, he sat up and looked around his room. He could not understand why he kept on having these dreams that lead him into the Forest of Dean, especially when they were involving Lord Voldemort. Frustrated with himself, Harry got out of bed and went down to the kitchen.
Harry walked into the kitchen to the smell of fresh oatmeal and buttered toast. Sitting himself down at the table, he opened up The Daily Prophet and began to read the morning news. Harry was halfway through an article about cauldron thickness when his hand raced up to his lightning bolt scar. It happened again; he felt a tingling in his scar. Fear spread throughout his body, leaving his limbs numb and his mouth dry. How could this be possible? Happening twice in one week and no rational explanation other than Lord Voldemort’s return was not very comforting to him. At that moment, the doorbell rang. Harry got up quickly and went to the front door. Harry opened the door and was surprised to see Arthur Weasley there.
“Hello Harry,” said Mr. Weasley in a welcoming voice.
“Hi Mr. Weasley,” replied Harry, feeling quite awkward. “Er…Can I help you with something?”
“Yes you can,” replied Mr. Weasley in a distracted voice, for his attention was drawn away by a muggle car passing by. “Why don’t you let me in and we’ll talk over a nice cup of tea?”
“Oh…yeah. Come on in,” said Harry.
Mr. Weasley stepped inside and led the way to the kitchen, as Harry closed the door. Harry caught up with Mr. Weasley, to find him sitting down at the kitchen table, accepting a cup of tea from Kreacher. Taking a sip, he turned to look at Harry.
“Harry, I came here to try and persuade you to come back to Hogwarts,” said Mr. Weasley, eyeing Harry carefully.
Harry was afraid that Mr. Weasley would bring this up. He could not stand to go against the Weasleys, his favorite family in the world, but they did not understand.
“I…I’m sorry…” began Harry, but stopped when he saw Mr. Weasley hold up his hand.
“I know why you think you should not go back,” said Mr. Weasley. “But I would like you to hear me out first.”
Mr. Weasley looked at Harry and waited for him to concede the conversation to him. Only when Harry sat back in his chair and drank from his tea, did Mr. Weasley continue.
“I realize how you feel. You feel responsible for those deaths that occurred at Hogwarts. You feel stripped after seeing Lupin, Tonks, and Fred. But they knew what they signed up for and would not allow you to throw your life away on their behalf. I want you to know that whatever it is you plan on doing, it can wait, at least one more year. Finish your education and then that time off to figure things out. But it would be a real shame to let you future slip away because you did not finish your schooling,” said Mr. Weasley, looking directly at Harry.
“Mr. Weasley, it’s not that I…” replied Harry, choosing his words carefully. “…don’t want to finish my education, but right now there is something else bothering me. Something that until today, I have ignored but at last I have decided to figure what it means.”
“And what is this ‘something’?” asked Mr. Weasley curiously.
“I wish I could tell you, honestly. But I think that it should only involve me, at least for the time being.”
“Are you sure I cannot help?”
“Yes…I’m sure.”
Mr. Weasley stared at Harry, trying to find out what was wrong. Studying him under his gaze, seeing if there was any reason for Harry not to be left alone. Recognizing defeat, Mr. Weasley lowered his gaze and took his last swig of tea.
“Listen Harry, if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to come to me,” said Mr. Weasley, making sure that Harry understood.
“Thank you Mr. Weasley,” replied Harry.
Mr. Weasley gave Harry one last sweeping look, shook his hand and left the kitchen. Harry sat down at the table and listened to the front door open, then close, and heard a faint pop from outside. He wished that he could tell Mr. Weasley where he had decided to go, but he did not want him to ask questions. After all, how would he have reacted if Harry told him that he was going to the Forest of Dean because he has a feeling Lord Voldemort was back again?
Harry drank the last of his tea, thanked Kreacher and went up to his bedroom. There, he changed into muggle clothing and collected his wand. Going to the front door, he told Kreacher he would be out all day today and would return around dinnertime. Stepping outside into the square, he pictured the Forest of Dean that he knew so well from his dreams, turned on the spot and vanished with a pop.
--------------------------------------------
Harry reappeared in the middle of a small clearing, surrounded by trees. Sunlight was streaming through the leaves and a slight breeze floated through the tops of the trees. Harry looked around and recognized the markings on one of the surrounding trees as the ones from his dreams; he knew exactly where he was.
Walking at a brisk pace, Harry let his feet guide him along the familiar path, not knowing what he was going to encounter. After a few minutes walk, the trees began to grow thicker together and it was harder to see what lied ahead. Harry continued along the deer path through a bunch of brambles, and came out into a clearing. This was the clearing he had been to before. There was the lake, with its black, glossy surface reflecting the sun’s light. Harry scanned around the edge of the lake and found the tree that harbors Lord Voldemort in his dreams. He looked around, wary of his surroundings, and slowly made his way toward the tree.
Harry approached the tree and took refuge in its shade. Looking around, he saw no evidence that anyone was here. In fact, it looked like no one has visited the clearing in years. Harry breathed a sigh of relief and sat down at the trunk of the tree. Harry watched a leaf float down towards the surface of the lake, and gazed at the ripples made by the leaf. His eyes followed the ripples from the center of the lake all the way to the shore he was sitting at. It was then that he saw something, reflecting the light from the sun, under the surface. Harry was hesitant at first, remembering what dangers can lie within foreign objects. But he shrugged it off, thinking that nobody would put anything dangerous out here; after all, this was a muggle forest. Harry put his hand in the water and retrieved what looked like, a metal box. However, there was rust and algae covering most of the surface, making it hard to hold onto.
Harry turned over the box and spotted the clasp that held it shut, but there was a lock on it. He muttered alohamora and the lock sprung open. Opening the box slowly, he noticed it was full of articles and pictures. The articles mainly consisted of news about Lord Voldemort, but some were of the ex-ministry employee, Barty Crouch. Looking through the photos, Harry saw that they mainly consisted of Barty Crouch Jr. and fellow Death Eaters. He was flipping through some of the older photos when a shadow was cast over him. Looking up, his stomach clinched like fist and his head screamed with confusion and pain, as someone yelled crucio.
Harry was screaming, his limbs were on fire, his body was shaking, and his head was pounding. He wanted it to end, wanted the pain to leave him. Just as he thought he could take no more before dying, the pain stopped and he lay still, face down in the grass.
“Get up Harry Potter,” whispered a voice so familiar, but Harry could not remember whom it belonged to. “Get up and look at me Harry.”
Harry lifted his head and looked towards the stranger standing in the blinding sun. Blinking a few times, Harry realized his glasses were lying next to his hand. He put them on and looked back at his attacker, only to have his stomach drop and mouth dry out. He was staring into the face of Barty Crouch Jr.
“No…”gasped Harry. “No…no…this can’t be possible, you’re…you’re dead.”
“Ahh,” replied Barty, his voice barely even a whisper. “I think you’ll find that I am anything but dead. Crucio!”
Harry felt pain beyond pain. His heart was beating against his rib cage, trying to burst out of his chest. And then, just as it had come, it was gone and Harry felt his head hit the ground and all went black.
***************************************
Please remember to leave some feedback
-Nick
HJP
Hey guys, I apologize for the rather large gap in between chapters. I don't what happened; I think it was a combination of writer's block, illness, and good weather for a change 
Anywho, here is Chapter 7. I hope you all like it and please remember to leave some feedback.
-Nick
HJP
Harry woke up with a massive headache and blinked a couple times to get the blurriness out of his eyes. He noticed that he was still on the ground next to the lake. Sitting up, he felt a throbbing pain in the small of his back; reaching around he felt a massive gash with dried blood covering his robes.
“You hit a rock when you passed out,” said a cruel voice.
Harry turned around and looked at the figure of Barty Crouch Jr. sitting under the tree. Wincing with pain, Harry sat up and noticed the contents of the silver box spread out next to Crouch.
“I see you’ve taken a keen interest in my private little stash,” said Crouch, following Harry’s eyes.
Harry tried to speak but could not make a sound, almost as if Crouch knew what Harry was trying to do.
“Save your strength Potter,” advised Crouch with a grin. “You made too much noise while laying around so I shut you up.”
Crouch grinned as he watched Harry sit there glaring back at him. Thinking of how much he would like to kill him, he decided to hold off, at least for a little while.
“Now that you’re awake I thought we’d have a nice little chat; since our last one was so rudely interrupted by your dear friend Dumbledore,” began Crouch, kneeling down to Harry’s height. “Make no mistake, you may have defeated the Dark Lord but that will not stop me from being his most loyal servant. So I would like to offer you a chance to live. Join me and together we will be able to continue the Dark Lord’s ambitions.”
Harry looked into the face he hated so much with a look of disbelief. How could he, Barty Crouch Jr., be offering him a chance to join ranks? After all, he had spent his whole life against Voldemort and was the one who killed him.
“I am not as blind as the Dark Lord,” said Crouch, noticing the expression on Harry’s bewildered face. “You are a lucky, but talented wizard and it would be foolish not to join ranks. Together, we can continue the Dark Lord’s work and make sure that wizards once again, will be pure.”
The voice inside Harry’s head screamed No! but Harry wanted to stay alive so he slowly nodded his head, hoping that he would be able to stay alive.
“Excellent,” said Crouch, helping Harry up and handing him his wand back. “We need go back to Lucius’ manor. I’ve been staying there and we can use that as a rally point once we get our followers back.”
Harry tried to comment back but found his throat still blocked. Crouch, noticing this, flicked his wand and Harry found his throat free up. Harry rubbed his neck with one hand, while thinking about what to say. He had to convince Crouch he was on his side, at least for the time being. Then, when the time was right, he’d escape.
“So, you’ve been staying at the Malfoys?” asked Harry, watching Crouch pick up the silver box. “When did you get back?”
“Yes, Lucius and I go way back and he has graciously given me a place to stay,” replied Crouch, walking to the lake and dropping to his knees to return the box to its resting place.
Harry noticed the Crouch accidentally left his wand by the tree where he had been sitting. Smiling to himself, he was so pleased that his opportunity came so soon, he pointed his wand at Crouch and said stupefy!
The curse flew at Crouch but then flew right back and hit Harry full in the face as he heard Crouch yell protecto. Harry fell to the ground out cold and completely fooled. Crouch stood up, shaking his head, revived Harry and put the tip of his wand to Harry’s throat.
“You honestly thought that I would leave my wand with my back facing you?” whispered Crouch, his voice freezing the air around him. “I had a feeling you would show your true colors sooner or later, so I decided to see if you still are Saint Potter early and looks like I was right.”
He was inches from Harry’s face, smiling crazily while staring into those green eyes. Harry, staring right back, felt a twinge in his scar as it began to slowly heat. Harry’s gazed became panicked as he looked around frantically. His eyes skimmed the clearing and when they met Crouch’s black eyes for the second time, Harry froze. There was something stirring in the depths of those black pits. It glued Harry’s gaze to Crouch’s face, and as he slowly raised a finger, inches away from Harry’s forehead, he muttered something so quietly; Harry had to strain his ears to listen.
“The Dark Lord is back,” he muttered.
And with that, he touched Harry’s forehead and it burst with pain, searing his forehead. Harry couldn’t remember when it hurt this bad, it was like his soul was ripping in half. His soul was being reunited with its old counterpart and was trying to die, rather than reunite. Harry’s heart couldn’t take it much longer, he was fading fast. Everything was going black around him; as the pain gave an excruciating throb, everything went black.
“What did you bring him here for?” shouted a voice. “You could do us all in. What if he wakes up and finds out where he is?”
“I brought him here to kill him,” said a second voice. “But I needed to make sure that we don’t need him to bring the Dark Lord back, before I kill him.”
Harry stirred with the voices shouting back and forth. He had another splitting headache and was lying on a stone floor in a cold, dark cellar. He heard distant voices shouting and slowly sat up. Looking around he recognized the cellar as the one he was in only months ago; he was in the basement of Malfoy’s manor.
As he came to that realization, fear flooded through him. He was wandless and for the first time, remembered the pain that shot through his scar earlier. Frantically, he stood up and ran to the door. How could this be? The only explanation was that Lord Voldemort was back and roaming this world again. Why then did it only hurt when Crouch touched him?
Finding no explanation, he sank down with his back against the door and hung his head. The voices moved further away and became a distant rumble every once in a while when one of the voices shouted. Harry was left in the dark cold cellar for hours, sitting there with his back against the door. Many thoughts raced through Harry’s mind and the pictures of those who he loved made a burning image in his closed eyelids. All he wanted to do was return to Grimmauld Place where Kreacher, no doubt, had a steak-and-kidney pie waiting for him. And then it hit him, Kreacher! His heart began beating rapidly and he was sure that Kreacher could be summoned here. Standing up, he cleared his voice.
“Kreacher,” Harry said clearly and as quietly as he could.
There was a faint pop, and Kreacher was standing there in front of him. Kreacher looked around and saw Harry.
“Master Harry, Kreacher was waiting for a long time for Master Harry to come home,” said Kreacher rushing forward.
“I know Kreacher, I’m sorry,” replied Harry, never happier to see Kreacher. “I need you to get me out of here. I couldn’t apparate because they took my wand.”
“Kreacher will take Master Harry home and then come back for wand.”
Kreacher held out a hand, which Harry took. With another faint pop, Harry and Kreacher disappeared.
“Thank you Kreacher, you have no idea how much I needed this food,” said Harry through a mouthful of steak-and-kidney pie.
“You’re welcome Master Harry,” replied Kreacher, with a low bow. “Kreacher will be right back with master’s wand.”
And with another pop Kreacher left the kitchen, back to the Malfoy’s. Harry only had to wait a minute or so before Kreacher returned with his wand. Harry took it gratefully and thanked Kreacher.
“It is nothing, sir,” replied Kreacher with another low bow. “You is Harry Potter, Kreacher’s master. I is doing anything for you.”
And with another low bow, Kreacher excused himself to make Harry’s bed. Harry waited a few minutes to walk up to his bed. On his way, he made his mind up that he would meet with Kingsley tomorrow morning, first thing. Harry lay down in his warm bed and immediately feel asleep.
Outside the stars were shining brightly on two men standing in the square. Both were wearing traveler’s cloaks and one had a cane. The other looked at the one with the cane and then back at the line of houses.
“Sleep well Harry, for we will be back,” whispered the one without the cane.
Both turned on the spot and vanished from sight, as a slight breeze blew across the square.
Anywho, here is Chapter 7. I hope you all like it and please remember to leave some feedback.-Nick
HJP
Chapter 7
Kreacher’s Master
Kreacher’s Master
Harry woke up with a massive headache and blinked a couple times to get the blurriness out of his eyes. He noticed that he was still on the ground next to the lake. Sitting up, he felt a throbbing pain in the small of his back; reaching around he felt a massive gash with dried blood covering his robes.
“You hit a rock when you passed out,” said a cruel voice.
Harry turned around and looked at the figure of Barty Crouch Jr. sitting under the tree. Wincing with pain, Harry sat up and noticed the contents of the silver box spread out next to Crouch.
“I see you’ve taken a keen interest in my private little stash,” said Crouch, following Harry’s eyes.
Harry tried to speak but could not make a sound, almost as if Crouch knew what Harry was trying to do.
“Save your strength Potter,” advised Crouch with a grin. “You made too much noise while laying around so I shut you up.”
Crouch grinned as he watched Harry sit there glaring back at him. Thinking of how much he would like to kill him, he decided to hold off, at least for a little while.
“Now that you’re awake I thought we’d have a nice little chat; since our last one was so rudely interrupted by your dear friend Dumbledore,” began Crouch, kneeling down to Harry’s height. “Make no mistake, you may have defeated the Dark Lord but that will not stop me from being his most loyal servant. So I would like to offer you a chance to live. Join me and together we will be able to continue the Dark Lord’s ambitions.”
Harry looked into the face he hated so much with a look of disbelief. How could he, Barty Crouch Jr., be offering him a chance to join ranks? After all, he had spent his whole life against Voldemort and was the one who killed him.
“I am not as blind as the Dark Lord,” said Crouch, noticing the expression on Harry’s bewildered face. “You are a lucky, but talented wizard and it would be foolish not to join ranks. Together, we can continue the Dark Lord’s work and make sure that wizards once again, will be pure.”
The voice inside Harry’s head screamed No! but Harry wanted to stay alive so he slowly nodded his head, hoping that he would be able to stay alive.
“Excellent,” said Crouch, helping Harry up and handing him his wand back. “We need go back to Lucius’ manor. I’ve been staying there and we can use that as a rally point once we get our followers back.”
Harry tried to comment back but found his throat still blocked. Crouch, noticing this, flicked his wand and Harry found his throat free up. Harry rubbed his neck with one hand, while thinking about what to say. He had to convince Crouch he was on his side, at least for the time being. Then, when the time was right, he’d escape.
“So, you’ve been staying at the Malfoys?” asked Harry, watching Crouch pick up the silver box. “When did you get back?”
“Yes, Lucius and I go way back and he has graciously given me a place to stay,” replied Crouch, walking to the lake and dropping to his knees to return the box to its resting place.
Harry noticed the Crouch accidentally left his wand by the tree where he had been sitting. Smiling to himself, he was so pleased that his opportunity came so soon, he pointed his wand at Crouch and said stupefy!
The curse flew at Crouch but then flew right back and hit Harry full in the face as he heard Crouch yell protecto. Harry fell to the ground out cold and completely fooled. Crouch stood up, shaking his head, revived Harry and put the tip of his wand to Harry’s throat.
“You honestly thought that I would leave my wand with my back facing you?” whispered Crouch, his voice freezing the air around him. “I had a feeling you would show your true colors sooner or later, so I decided to see if you still are Saint Potter early and looks like I was right.”
He was inches from Harry’s face, smiling crazily while staring into those green eyes. Harry, staring right back, felt a twinge in his scar as it began to slowly heat. Harry’s gazed became panicked as he looked around frantically. His eyes skimmed the clearing and when they met Crouch’s black eyes for the second time, Harry froze. There was something stirring in the depths of those black pits. It glued Harry’s gaze to Crouch’s face, and as he slowly raised a finger, inches away from Harry’s forehead, he muttered something so quietly; Harry had to strain his ears to listen.
“The Dark Lord is back,” he muttered.
And with that, he touched Harry’s forehead and it burst with pain, searing his forehead. Harry couldn’t remember when it hurt this bad, it was like his soul was ripping in half. His soul was being reunited with its old counterpart and was trying to die, rather than reunite. Harry’s heart couldn’t take it much longer, he was fading fast. Everything was going black around him; as the pain gave an excruciating throb, everything went black.
“What did you bring him here for?” shouted a voice. “You could do us all in. What if he wakes up and finds out where he is?”
“I brought him here to kill him,” said a second voice. “But I needed to make sure that we don’t need him to bring the Dark Lord back, before I kill him.”
Harry stirred with the voices shouting back and forth. He had another splitting headache and was lying on a stone floor in a cold, dark cellar. He heard distant voices shouting and slowly sat up. Looking around he recognized the cellar as the one he was in only months ago; he was in the basement of Malfoy’s manor.
As he came to that realization, fear flooded through him. He was wandless and for the first time, remembered the pain that shot through his scar earlier. Frantically, he stood up and ran to the door. How could this be? The only explanation was that Lord Voldemort was back and roaming this world again. Why then did it only hurt when Crouch touched him?
Finding no explanation, he sank down with his back against the door and hung his head. The voices moved further away and became a distant rumble every once in a while when one of the voices shouted. Harry was left in the dark cold cellar for hours, sitting there with his back against the door. Many thoughts raced through Harry’s mind and the pictures of those who he loved made a burning image in his closed eyelids. All he wanted to do was return to Grimmauld Place where Kreacher, no doubt, had a steak-and-kidney pie waiting for him. And then it hit him, Kreacher! His heart began beating rapidly and he was sure that Kreacher could be summoned here. Standing up, he cleared his voice.
“Kreacher,” Harry said clearly and as quietly as he could.
There was a faint pop, and Kreacher was standing there in front of him. Kreacher looked around and saw Harry.
“Master Harry, Kreacher was waiting for a long time for Master Harry to come home,” said Kreacher rushing forward.
“I know Kreacher, I’m sorry,” replied Harry, never happier to see Kreacher. “I need you to get me out of here. I couldn’t apparate because they took my wand.”
“Kreacher will take Master Harry home and then come back for wand.”
Kreacher held out a hand, which Harry took. With another faint pop, Harry and Kreacher disappeared.
“Thank you Kreacher, you have no idea how much I needed this food,” said Harry through a mouthful of steak-and-kidney pie.
“You’re welcome Master Harry,” replied Kreacher, with a low bow. “Kreacher will be right back with master’s wand.”
And with another pop Kreacher left the kitchen, back to the Malfoy’s. Harry only had to wait a minute or so before Kreacher returned with his wand. Harry took it gratefully and thanked Kreacher.
“It is nothing, sir,” replied Kreacher with another low bow. “You is Harry Potter, Kreacher’s master. I is doing anything for you.”
And with another low bow, Kreacher excused himself to make Harry’s bed. Harry waited a few minutes to walk up to his bed. On his way, he made his mind up that he would meet with Kingsley tomorrow morning, first thing. Harry lay down in his warm bed and immediately feel asleep.
Outside the stars were shining brightly on two men standing in the square. Both were wearing traveler’s cloaks and one had a cane. The other looked at the one with the cane and then back at the line of houses.
“Sleep well Harry, for we will be back,” whispered the one without the cane.
Both turned on the spot and vanished from sight, as a slight breeze blew across the square.
....
So I'm really really really sorry for letting this go so long without updating. I've just been so extremely busy with college that it had to take the very last burner possible. So I hope you can forgive me. I've finished this chapter and I'm almost done with the next one, and after that I'll try and stay on a more regular posting pattern.
Anyways, here's the new chapter. It's short but I hope you like it...feedback is always appreciated.
-Nick
HJP
“Ron!” yelled Mrs. Weasley, catching her son trying to sneak out of the kitchen door with his broomstick. “Did you finish all of your chores?”
“Mom, come on,” whined Ron, turning around to face his mother. “It’s the nicest day yet, just ten minutes I swear.”
“Ronald Weasley, you turn around and march straight back to your room!” shouted Mrs. Weasley. “You and I both know if I let you out before your chores are done, you might never come back!”
“But Mom,” complained Ron, desperate to get outside and in the air. “Look outside for yourself there’s not a single cloud in the sky.”
“Yes and Harry’s walking up the driveway,” muttered Mrs. Weasley, getting back to her chores, not immediately registering what she just said. “Harry!”
Mrs. Weasley ran out of the kitchen door before Ron could even process what her mother was shouting. Finally catching on, he ran after his mother, sprinting towards Harry walking up the driveway.
“Harry dear,” panted Mrs. Weasley and she collided with Harry and held him in a tight embrace. “We’ve been so worried. How are you?”
“I’m fine Mrs. Weasley,” said Harry, struggling to breathe. “Really I’m fine.”
Harry managed, with difficulty, to pry himself from Mrs. Weasley’s tight embrace. Just as he detangled himself completely from her arms Harry received a whack on the head.
“Ouch!” exclaimed Harry, looking at Ron who had caught up to his mother. “What’d you do that for?”
“You had me in a right state you know!” retorted Ron. “You can’t just disappear and then expect me to welcome you as if I just saw you yesterday.”
“Yeah well that hurt,” laughed Harry, trying to lighten the mood.
When Harry realized that wasn’t going to appease Ron and his mother, he shuffled his feet and looked around nervously.
“Listen Ron…” began Harry, in an ashamed voice.
“Ah it’s ok,” interrupted Ron, embracing Harry. “I’m just glad you’re alright. Come inside and fill us in on where you’ve been.”
Eager to get off his feet and have a cup of tea before filling in the Weasleys on where he’s been and what he discussed with Kingsley Shacklebolt early this morning, Harry followed Ron and his mother into the Burrow.
Harry sat down at the table in the kitchen and waited while Mrs. Weasley busied herself with making tea.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat Harry dear?” asked Mrs. Weasley as she brought over the steaming tea and sat down next to Ron. “You look famished. I could have eggs and toast ready in a flash.”
“No thank you Mrs. Weasley, I’m fine with tea,” replied Harry.
“So, what’s the story? Where have you been the past couple weeks?” asked Ron.
Harry took a sip of tea and began his story. He told the Weasley’s about needing time to himself and how he came to the decision not to return to Hogwarts. He recalled his most recent encounters with Lucius Malfoy and his other assailant.
“Wait,” interjected Ron, with a perplexed look of shock on his face. “Mr. Malfoy attacked you?”
“Yes,” replied Harry, staring into his now empty cup. “He felt that he should still continue Lord Voldemort’s work and kill me.”
“But…” replied Ron, wincing slightly at the sound of Voldemort. “He can’t seriously believe that he can gain anything from killing you?”
“He can and he does,” replied Harry.
“So who was this assailant helping Malfoy?” asked Ron, for Harry had failed to mention that Barty Crouch Jr. was back.
“I can’t tell you. I promised Kingsley that I would not tell anyone,” said Harry reluctantly.
“That’s ridiculous Harry,” retorted Mrs. Weasley, who had been silent the whole conversation. “He can’t honestly believe that it is detrimental to your cause by keeping this man’s identity secret.”
Harry only shrugged in response and stood up from the table, pacing the kitchen.
“I came here to apologize for being in solitude for so long and for causing you worry,” began Harry, reluctant to say what he had to. “But I also came to tell you that I’m going away; possibly for many months.”
“What?!” snapped Ron. “Where are you going?”
“I can’t tell you,” said Harry, his voice filled with sorrow as he looked into his best friend’s eyes. “All I can tell you is that I’ll be leaving for a considerable amount of time and I don’t know when I’ll be coming back.”
“But…but…” spluttered Ron, completely lost for words. Ron glanced over at his mother who had gone completely white and was only moments from regaining her voice. Seeing this,
Harry quickly said…
“Please, don’t try and argue. I’ve made up my mind and I have to do this, for reasons I reluctantly can’t tell you,” Harry quickly said, hoping to avoid yelling. “Just know that I love you all and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
And without allowing either of them the opportunity to talk, Harry walked out of the kitchen door and disapparted.
-----------------------------------------------
Again I apologize that it was so short. The next chapter should be posted in the next week or so.
feedback
-Nick
HJP
So I'm really really really sorry for letting this go so long without updating. I've just been so extremely busy with college that it had to take the very last burner possible. So I hope you can forgive me. I've finished this chapter and I'm almost done with the next one, and after that I'll try and stay on a more regular posting pattern.
Anyways, here's the new chapter. It's short but I hope you like it...feedback is always appreciated.
-Nick
HJP
Chapter 8
Parting of the Ways
Parting of the Ways
“Ron!” yelled Mrs. Weasley, catching her son trying to sneak out of the kitchen door with his broomstick. “Did you finish all of your chores?”
“Mom, come on,” whined Ron, turning around to face his mother. “It’s the nicest day yet, just ten minutes I swear.”
“Ronald Weasley, you turn around and march straight back to your room!” shouted Mrs. Weasley. “You and I both know if I let you out before your chores are done, you might never come back!”
“But Mom,” complained Ron, desperate to get outside and in the air. “Look outside for yourself there’s not a single cloud in the sky.”
“Yes and Harry’s walking up the driveway,” muttered Mrs. Weasley, getting back to her chores, not immediately registering what she just said. “Harry!”
Mrs. Weasley ran out of the kitchen door before Ron could even process what her mother was shouting. Finally catching on, he ran after his mother, sprinting towards Harry walking up the driveway.
“Harry dear,” panted Mrs. Weasley and she collided with Harry and held him in a tight embrace. “We’ve been so worried. How are you?”
“I’m fine Mrs. Weasley,” said Harry, struggling to breathe. “Really I’m fine.”
Harry managed, with difficulty, to pry himself from Mrs. Weasley’s tight embrace. Just as he detangled himself completely from her arms Harry received a whack on the head.
“Ouch!” exclaimed Harry, looking at Ron who had caught up to his mother. “What’d you do that for?”
“You had me in a right state you know!” retorted Ron. “You can’t just disappear and then expect me to welcome you as if I just saw you yesterday.”
“Yeah well that hurt,” laughed Harry, trying to lighten the mood.
When Harry realized that wasn’t going to appease Ron and his mother, he shuffled his feet and looked around nervously.
“Listen Ron…” began Harry, in an ashamed voice.
“Ah it’s ok,” interrupted Ron, embracing Harry. “I’m just glad you’re alright. Come inside and fill us in on where you’ve been.”
Eager to get off his feet and have a cup of tea before filling in the Weasleys on where he’s been and what he discussed with Kingsley Shacklebolt early this morning, Harry followed Ron and his mother into the Burrow.
Harry sat down at the table in the kitchen and waited while Mrs. Weasley busied herself with making tea.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat Harry dear?” asked Mrs. Weasley as she brought over the steaming tea and sat down next to Ron. “You look famished. I could have eggs and toast ready in a flash.”
“No thank you Mrs. Weasley, I’m fine with tea,” replied Harry.
“So, what’s the story? Where have you been the past couple weeks?” asked Ron.
Harry took a sip of tea and began his story. He told the Weasley’s about needing time to himself and how he came to the decision not to return to Hogwarts. He recalled his most recent encounters with Lucius Malfoy and his other assailant.
“Wait,” interjected Ron, with a perplexed look of shock on his face. “Mr. Malfoy attacked you?”
“Yes,” replied Harry, staring into his now empty cup. “He felt that he should still continue Lord Voldemort’s work and kill me.”
“But…” replied Ron, wincing slightly at the sound of Voldemort. “He can’t seriously believe that he can gain anything from killing you?”
“He can and he does,” replied Harry.
“So who was this assailant helping Malfoy?” asked Ron, for Harry had failed to mention that Barty Crouch Jr. was back.
“I can’t tell you. I promised Kingsley that I would not tell anyone,” said Harry reluctantly.
“That’s ridiculous Harry,” retorted Mrs. Weasley, who had been silent the whole conversation. “He can’t honestly believe that it is detrimental to your cause by keeping this man’s identity secret.”
Harry only shrugged in response and stood up from the table, pacing the kitchen.
“I came here to apologize for being in solitude for so long and for causing you worry,” began Harry, reluctant to say what he had to. “But I also came to tell you that I’m going away; possibly for many months.”
“What?!” snapped Ron. “Where are you going?”
“I can’t tell you,” said Harry, his voice filled with sorrow as he looked into his best friend’s eyes. “All I can tell you is that I’ll be leaving for a considerable amount of time and I don’t know when I’ll be coming back.”
“But…but…” spluttered Ron, completely lost for words. Ron glanced over at his mother who had gone completely white and was only moments from regaining her voice. Seeing this,
Harry quickly said…
“Please, don’t try and argue. I’ve made up my mind and I have to do this, for reasons I reluctantly can’t tell you,” Harry quickly said, hoping to avoid yelling. “Just know that I love you all and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
And without allowing either of them the opportunity to talk, Harry walked out of the kitchen door and disapparted.
-----------------------------------------------
Again I apologize that it was so short. The next chapter should be posted in the next week or so.
feedback
-Nick
HJP
Hey all-
Here's the next chapter. Hope you all enjoy it. Thanks again to Just The Droobles for her awesome work as my beta!
-Nick
HJP
Harry closed the door behind and immediately felt hot tears streaming down his face. He hated leaving the Weasleys so abruptly without a proper goodbye. But he knew that if he had stayed conflict would have arisen, and he didn’t want to fight with them during their potential last time seeing each other. Harry put his back against the door and slowly lowered himself to the floor, sitting there in his pool of emotions; allowing the silence of Grimmauld Place to engulf him until he was in a state of serenity.
After he had collected himself, Harry stood up and made his way into the kitchen, longing for a hot meal. When he walked into the kitchen, he found Kreacher preparing a mouth-watering stew in preparation for his arrival.
“Master Harry,” greeted Kreacher with a low bow. “Kreacher has prepared a stew for you.”
“Thank you Kreacher,” replied Harry, sitting down at the table, as a bowl of hot stew was placed in front of him. “This is exactly what I needed.”
After he had finished his stew, Harry made his way up to his bedroom, passing the heads of the older house elfs, remembering how repulsed he first was. Once in his room, Harry began to pack. Reflecting on his earlier discussion with Kingsley Shacklebolt about what he was to do. Harry had informed Kingsley about the reappearance of Barty Crouch Jr. After his initial shock, Kingsley had Harry recite his encounters with him and exactly what he had said to Harry. After hearing what Harry had to say, Kingsley was not able to offer insight into how this was possible, but assured Harry, he would make his foremost responsibility to find out. Harry had also informed Kingsley of the role the Malfoys played in the kidnapping and Kingsley was outraged. He promised Harry that the Malfoys would not be free for much longer, for this violated their oaths of peace and sincerity for their past deeds.
After filling in Kingsley about recent events, they had a discussion on what to do next. Kingsley felt that Harry should stay in London and close to the Ministry, however Harry had other plans. After thinking long and hard, Harry had come to the conclusion that he would go to the forests of Albania to discover what he could, if anything, about the Dark Magic that is notorious in that area. For that is where Lord Voldemort had resided for years, and that was the trip Harry was packing for.
As Harry looked around at the various objects he had now thrown into his sack, the doorbell rang and Harry started, not knowing who could be seeking him. Harry hurried to the door and asked who was there. He was surprised to hear the voice of Professor McGonagall answer back.
“Professor!” exclaimed Harry, opening the door to admit his former Transfiguration professor.
“Potter,” Professor McGonagall said curtly, stepping indoors.
“Can I offer you a cup of tea?” offered Harry, not sure how to react to this unexpected visit.
“Yes thank you,” replied McGonagall, following Harry into the kitchen.
Harry and Professor McGonagall sat at the kitchen table in silence while Kreacher busied himself with the tea. When Kreacher brought the tea over and excused himself from the room, Professor McGonagall took a sip and turned towards Potter.
“Potter, I’m disappointed with your decision not to return to Hogwarts this school year,” said Professor McGonagall bluntly.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” replied Harry.
“My I inquire to why you will not be returning?” she asked.
“I…I have an obligation with the Ministry,” replied Harry, trying to avoid any details about his plan.
“Obligation?” asked McGonagall, raising her eyebrows.
“I’m sorry professor, but I cannot tell you any more than that,” Harry responded, hating himself for keeping so many secrets from those whom he trusted.
Professor McGonagall surveyed Harry from behind her spectacles. It was not the same x-ray type look that Harry was accustomed to from Dumbledore, but it had a similar effect. Finally, she put down her cup and stood from the table.
“Well, I can see that you will not be persuaded any different,” began Professor McGonagall. “However, if you ever need assistance do not hesitate to contact the school. For it seems the famous Harry Potter will always be wanted in the halls of Hogwarts. Although I won’t miss the mischief you always caused.”
“Thank you Professor,” replied Harry, grinning.
And with that, Professor McGonagall excused herself and left Harry alone in Grimmauld Place. After he heard the door shut, Harry got up from his seat and walked back up to his room. There he continued packing until he was sure he had remembered everything he would need on his journey.
Once he had finished, Harry went down to the kitchen to have supper then, exhausted, returned to bed and collapsed into a deep sleep.
---------------------
feedback
-Nick
HJP
Here's the next chapter. Hope you all enjoy it. Thanks again to Just The Droobles for her awesome work as my beta!
-Nick
HJP
Chapter 9
Packing
Packing
Harry closed the door behind and immediately felt hot tears streaming down his face. He hated leaving the Weasleys so abruptly without a proper goodbye. But he knew that if he had stayed conflict would have arisen, and he didn’t want to fight with them during their potential last time seeing each other. Harry put his back against the door and slowly lowered himself to the floor, sitting there in his pool of emotions; allowing the silence of Grimmauld Place to engulf him until he was in a state of serenity.
After he had collected himself, Harry stood up and made his way into the kitchen, longing for a hot meal. When he walked into the kitchen, he found Kreacher preparing a mouth-watering stew in preparation for his arrival.
“Master Harry,” greeted Kreacher with a low bow. “Kreacher has prepared a stew for you.”
“Thank you Kreacher,” replied Harry, sitting down at the table, as a bowl of hot stew was placed in front of him. “This is exactly what I needed.”
After he had finished his stew, Harry made his way up to his bedroom, passing the heads of the older house elfs, remembering how repulsed he first was. Once in his room, Harry began to pack. Reflecting on his earlier discussion with Kingsley Shacklebolt about what he was to do. Harry had informed Kingsley about the reappearance of Barty Crouch Jr. After his initial shock, Kingsley had Harry recite his encounters with him and exactly what he had said to Harry. After hearing what Harry had to say, Kingsley was not able to offer insight into how this was possible, but assured Harry, he would make his foremost responsibility to find out. Harry had also informed Kingsley of the role the Malfoys played in the kidnapping and Kingsley was outraged. He promised Harry that the Malfoys would not be free for much longer, for this violated their oaths of peace and sincerity for their past deeds.
After filling in Kingsley about recent events, they had a discussion on what to do next. Kingsley felt that Harry should stay in London and close to the Ministry, however Harry had other plans. After thinking long and hard, Harry had come to the conclusion that he would go to the forests of Albania to discover what he could, if anything, about the Dark Magic that is notorious in that area. For that is where Lord Voldemort had resided for years, and that was the trip Harry was packing for.
As Harry looked around at the various objects he had now thrown into his sack, the doorbell rang and Harry started, not knowing who could be seeking him. Harry hurried to the door and asked who was there. He was surprised to hear the voice of Professor McGonagall answer back.
“Professor!” exclaimed Harry, opening the door to admit his former Transfiguration professor.
“Potter,” Professor McGonagall said curtly, stepping indoors.
“Can I offer you a cup of tea?” offered Harry, not sure how to react to this unexpected visit.
“Yes thank you,” replied McGonagall, following Harry into the kitchen.
Harry and Professor McGonagall sat at the kitchen table in silence while Kreacher busied himself with the tea. When Kreacher brought the tea over and excused himself from the room, Professor McGonagall took a sip and turned towards Potter.
“Potter, I’m disappointed with your decision not to return to Hogwarts this school year,” said Professor McGonagall bluntly.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” replied Harry.
“My I inquire to why you will not be returning?” she asked.
“I…I have an obligation with the Ministry,” replied Harry, trying to avoid any details about his plan.
“Obligation?” asked McGonagall, raising her eyebrows.
“I’m sorry professor, but I cannot tell you any more than that,” Harry responded, hating himself for keeping so many secrets from those whom he trusted.
Professor McGonagall surveyed Harry from behind her spectacles. It was not the same x-ray type look that Harry was accustomed to from Dumbledore, but it had a similar effect. Finally, she put down her cup and stood from the table.
“Well, I can see that you will not be persuaded any different,” began Professor McGonagall. “However, if you ever need assistance do not hesitate to contact the school. For it seems the famous Harry Potter will always be wanted in the halls of Hogwarts. Although I won’t miss the mischief you always caused.”
“Thank you Professor,” replied Harry, grinning.
And with that, Professor McGonagall excused herself and left Harry alone in Grimmauld Place. After he heard the door shut, Harry got up from his seat and walked back up to his room. There he continued packing until he was sure he had remembered everything he would need on his journey.
Once he had finished, Harry went down to the kitchen to have supper then, exhausted, returned to bed and collapsed into a deep sleep.
---------------------
feedback
-Nick
HJP
Hey all-
So it has been a year since this fanfic was started and about eight months since it was last updated. I'm so sorry to have given up on it like that, especially since a couple of you actually enjoyed it! (myself included) But I'm back, with fresh determination and more time to write. So I want to thank you for your patience if you're an original fan. If you're new to the fic... thanks for reading!
This chapter is a short one, but this is a short moment in the story. I promise the next chapter will be longer and a lot more interesting. In fact, if all goes to plan, it'll be my favorite chapter to date. So enjoy this chapter and the fact that I'm back at it!
-Nick
HJP
The streaming sun through the window woke Harry early the next morning. Yawning, Harry got out of bed and slowly made his way down to the kitchen. When he entered through the door, a wave of anxiety swept over him. He wasn’t looking forward to the solitude of his journey, nor the possible dangers. But he knew he could not rest until his scar stopped hurting and his nightmares stopped plaguing him.
Harry sat down at the table as Kreacher brought over a bowl of steaming onion soup, comparable to only Mrs. Weasleys.
“Thanks Kreacher,” said Harry.
“Your most welcome Master Harry,” replied Kreacher. “Did Master finish his packings?”
“Yes Kreacher, I’m going to be leaving right after breakfast,” said Harry in a dull, but determined tone.
Harry ate his bowl of onion soup slowly in the silent kitchen in Grimmauld Place. He looked around at his surroundings and remembered sitting in this very chair, listening to Sirius, Lupin, and the Weasleys discussing Lord Voldemort’s plan for revolution. He could hardly believe that that was only a couple of years ago; it seemed a lifetime away. And as he continued to eat his soup, his mind wandered back to Barty Crouch Jr. and the pain he felt in his scar. What does it mean? Was Crouch back?... was Voldemort back?
After eating all he could, Harry got up from his chair and began fastening his cloak. Once it was properly fashioned, he casually flicked his wand and his rucksack was at his side a few moments later. Putting the mokeskin bag, the very one that Hagrid gave him for his seventeenth birthday, around his neck; Harry turned to grab his bag and saw Kreacher
holding it.
“Master Harry?” asked Kreacher. “Kreacher wants to come with Master.”
“No Kreacher, absolutely not,” replied Harry. “You stay here and watch over the place. If you want, you could return to the Hogwarts’ kitchens. I’m sure they could use your help.”
Kreacher gave him a look Harry had never seen from the elf. It was not a look of anger or curiosity, but of concern. It reminded Harry of Dobby.
“Kreacher, the last time I went on a journey like this, Dobby was murdered. I don’t want to see that happen to you,” said Harry. “I’m sorry but I want you to stay.”
And with that Harry turned his back toward the house-elf, marched to the front door. Taking one last look down the narrow hallway of Grimmauld Place, he opened the front door and walked out into the little square.
Thinking it best not to dissaparate in plain views, Harry began walking towards the neighboring park; hoping for a little more cover. He had barely made it to the entrance to the park when he heard a loud crack.
Harry whirled around, drawing his wand in one, quick motion. His heart beating fast, he expected to see a Death Eater at the very least, but found himself face-to-face with Kreacer.
“Kreacher! How are you…How can you…I thought I ordered you not to come with me!” demanded Harry. He was shocked to see Kreacher disobeying his orders, since he knew it cost him so much to do just that…disobey.
“Kreacher will punish himself later Master Harry,” replied Kreacher. “But Kreacher wants to come with Master Harry and will keep on disobeying his orders, even if it means death.”
Harry was shocked. He could not believe that Kreacher was so determined to come with Harry. And he certainly didn’t want Kreacher to punish himself repeatedly until he might die from it.
“Fine, Kreacher, fine!” said Harry quickly, for Kreacher was considering a branch to hit himself with. “You can come, as long as you don’t punish yourself.”
“Yes Master Harry,” replied Kreacher in a triumphant voice.
Harry couldn’t believe that he was allowing Kreacher to come with him. The last thing he needed was to look after someone else. But as he strode further into the park, looking for a place to disapparate, he thought to himself that he would eventually be glad of the company and help.
And with that, Harry, grasping Kreacher’s hand, turned on the spot and vanished.
---------------------
Feedback Please!!
P.S. - I absolutely loved Kreacher in the HP series, so I couldn't resist the idea of him and Harry going on this adventure together! Remember to leave feedback!
-Nick
HJP
So it has been a year since this fanfic was started and about eight months since it was last updated. I'm so sorry to have given up on it like that, especially since a couple of you actually enjoyed it! (myself included) But I'm back, with fresh determination and more time to write. So I want to thank you for your patience if you're an original fan. If you're new to the fic... thanks for reading!
This chapter is a short one, but this is a short moment in the story. I promise the next chapter will be longer and a lot more interesting. In fact, if all goes to plan, it'll be my favorite chapter to date. So enjoy this chapter and the fact that I'm back at it!
-Nick
HJP
Chapter 10
Departure
Departure
The streaming sun through the window woke Harry early the next morning. Yawning, Harry got out of bed and slowly made his way down to the kitchen. When he entered through the door, a wave of anxiety swept over him. He wasn’t looking forward to the solitude of his journey, nor the possible dangers. But he knew he could not rest until his scar stopped hurting and his nightmares stopped plaguing him.
Harry sat down at the table as Kreacher brought over a bowl of steaming onion soup, comparable to only Mrs. Weasleys.
“Thanks Kreacher,” said Harry.
“Your most welcome Master Harry,” replied Kreacher. “Did Master finish his packings?”
“Yes Kreacher, I’m going to be leaving right after breakfast,” said Harry in a dull, but determined tone.
Harry ate his bowl of onion soup slowly in the silent kitchen in Grimmauld Place. He looked around at his surroundings and remembered sitting in this very chair, listening to Sirius, Lupin, and the Weasleys discussing Lord Voldemort’s plan for revolution. He could hardly believe that that was only a couple of years ago; it seemed a lifetime away. And as he continued to eat his soup, his mind wandered back to Barty Crouch Jr. and the pain he felt in his scar. What does it mean? Was Crouch back?... was Voldemort back?
After eating all he could, Harry got up from his chair and began fastening his cloak. Once it was properly fashioned, he casually flicked his wand and his rucksack was at his side a few moments later. Putting the mokeskin bag, the very one that Hagrid gave him for his seventeenth birthday, around his neck; Harry turned to grab his bag and saw Kreacher
holding it.
“Master Harry?” asked Kreacher. “Kreacher wants to come with Master.”
“No Kreacher, absolutely not,” replied Harry. “You stay here and watch over the place. If you want, you could return to the Hogwarts’ kitchens. I’m sure they could use your help.”
Kreacher gave him a look Harry had never seen from the elf. It was not a look of anger or curiosity, but of concern. It reminded Harry of Dobby.
“Kreacher, the last time I went on a journey like this, Dobby was murdered. I don’t want to see that happen to you,” said Harry. “I’m sorry but I want you to stay.”
And with that Harry turned his back toward the house-elf, marched to the front door. Taking one last look down the narrow hallway of Grimmauld Place, he opened the front door and walked out into the little square.
Thinking it best not to dissaparate in plain views, Harry began walking towards the neighboring park; hoping for a little more cover. He had barely made it to the entrance to the park when he heard a loud crack.
Harry whirled around, drawing his wand in one, quick motion. His heart beating fast, he expected to see a Death Eater at the very least, but found himself face-to-face with Kreacer.
“Kreacher! How are you…How can you…I thought I ordered you not to come with me!” demanded Harry. He was shocked to see Kreacher disobeying his orders, since he knew it cost him so much to do just that…disobey.
“Kreacher will punish himself later Master Harry,” replied Kreacher. “But Kreacher wants to come with Master Harry and will keep on disobeying his orders, even if it means death.”
Harry was shocked. He could not believe that Kreacher was so determined to come with Harry. And he certainly didn’t want Kreacher to punish himself repeatedly until he might die from it.
“Fine, Kreacher, fine!” said Harry quickly, for Kreacher was considering a branch to hit himself with. “You can come, as long as you don’t punish yourself.”
“Yes Master Harry,” replied Kreacher in a triumphant voice.
Harry couldn’t believe that he was allowing Kreacher to come with him. The last thing he needed was to look after someone else. But as he strode further into the park, looking for a place to disapparate, he thought to himself that he would eventually be glad of the company and help.
And with that, Harry, grasping Kreacher’s hand, turned on the spot and vanished.
---------------------
Feedback Please!!
P.S. - I absolutely loved Kreacher in the HP series, so I couldn't resist the idea of him and Harry going on this adventure together! Remember to leave feedback!
-Nick
HJP
So as promised the next is up very very soon after that last one. I love this chapter just because it's in a place never actually visited in the HP series (and we meet a new character).
Please leave feedback if you end up reading!!
-Nick
HJP
Harry and Kreacher arrived outside of the Leaky Cauldron ten minutes later, for Harry thought it best to apparate to a less busy street. Walking through the door, Harry found the Leaky Cauldron much busier than the last time he was here. It seemed that with the fall of Lord Voldemort, the wizarding world was back to normal. Tom, the bald barman, was busy serving the full bar. But that didn’t stop him from welcoming Harry to the pub and Harry soon found himself shaking hands with almost everyone in the bar. It was similar to his very first visit when he was with Hagrid. People were congratulating him on his defeat of the darkest wizard of all time and were eager to shake The Chosen One’s hand.
After ten minutes of hurried congratulations, Harry walked out to the brick wall behind the bar. Taping the brick above the garbage can, it began to melt away into an entranceway into Diagon Alley.
Diagon Alley was also back to normal. All of the shops that were previously closed up were reopened. Harry noted that some were under new management because the owners were either killed in Voldemort’s short govern, or because the previous owner’s decided it was time to retire. However, on the whole, most of the old owners were back in business; including, to Harry’s delight, Florean Fortescue.
Making his way through Diagon Alley, Harry found himself at the foot of a tall, white building everyone knew as Gringotts. Harry remembered coming here last time, with Hermione as Bellatrix Lestrange and Ron as Bellatrix’s, supposed, foreign friend. Harry walked through the two sets of doors and made his way to one of the many counters; behind which, sat many goblins.
“Harry Potter,” noted the goblin behind the counter Harry walked up to. “You’ve been up to a lot since we last saw each other.”
Harry was taken aback to see that he was face-to-face with Griphook. Harry couldn’t help but feel some resentment towards Griphook. After all, he did not make Harry’s escape from Gringotts any easier.
“Yeah I have,” replied Harry. “I’ve come to make a withdrawal.”
“Do you have your key?” asked Griphook.
“Yeah, it’s right here,” said Harry, taking his key out from his pocket and handing it over to the goblin.
“Right, well everything seems to be in order. If you’ll just follow me,” replied Griphook, as he lead Harry and Kreacher to one of the doors leading off of the main hallway to the many vaults located under London.
Harry, Kreacher, and Griphook climbed into the cart and took off at a neck breaking speed to Harry’s vault.
“Vault 687,” announced Griphook, as their cart came to a sudden halt.
They stepped out of the cart and Griphook unlocked the vault with Harry’s key. The vault door opened to reveal an enormous sum of gold, for Sirius’ gold was added to Harry’s vault when he died. Harry withdrew more gold than he ever previously had, but the difference wasn’t noticeable.
After Harry tucked away him money sacks in his mokeskin pouch, and one speedy cart ride back to the main hallway, Harry and Kreacher found themselves once again back outside the snowy white wizarding bank.
Harry made his way through Diagon Alley until he found the shop he was looking for, Ollivander’s. Harry was pleased to see that it was reopened and seemed to be doing well. Harry pushed open the door and a small bell chimed somewhere in the depths of the store.
Harry looked around at the high walls, filled with hundreds of boxes; inside each was a different wand. He remembered getting his wand eight years ago, not believing that he, Harry Potter, could be a wizard.
“Harry Potter,” came a faint voice from behind the counter, startling Harry. “What a privilege it is to see you again Mr. Potter.”
“Mr. Ollivander,” replied Harry, smiling. “I hope I find you well?”
“Oh yes my dear boy,” said Ollivander happily. “Much better than when you last saw me.”
Harry had to admit that he liked Mr. Ollivander a lot more after all they went through last year. He remembered not liking him on the first couple meetings between the two. But escaping the Malfoy’s seemed to have created a unique bond between the two.
“Mr. Ollivander,” said Harry. “I need a favor from you.”
“Anything,” replied Ollivander immediately. “You saved my life and I shall never forget that. What kind I do for you?”
“Well…” began Harry. “I’m looking to go…er…abroad and I was wondering what the best way to approach that was. I assume you cannot simply apart across the ocean?”
“No no no,” replied Ollivander, thinking hard. “Apparition is very useful, very true, but it does have its limits.”
Ollivander returned behind his counter and pulled out a quill and some parchment. He began scribbling feverishly while talking to Harry.
“I have a friend in a town called Tinworth,” said Ollivander, not looking up from the parchment. “He’s retired now, but back in his day, he used travel abroad quite often. If anyone knows more about traveling abroad than he does, than I’m a hippogriff.”
Chuckling to himself, Mr. Ollivander signed the finished note, magically sealed it and handed it over to Harry.
“His name’s Hambledon Quince, and he lives right on the main street,” said Mr. Ollivander, chortling to himself. “You can’t miss his house.”
“Thanks a bunch Mr. Ollivander,” replied Harry, slipping the note into his mokeskin pouch. “It was great to see you again.”
“And you my dear boy,” said Mr. Ollivander, smiling at Harry. “Have a great trip, you deserve it.”
And with that, Mr. Ollivander bowed Harry out of his shop. Harry and Kreacher walked back into the courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron. Grabbing hold of Kreacher’s hand, Harry turned on the spot and they both disappeared with a loud crack.
***********************
The pair of them appeared on the outskirts of a small village. From the looks of it, the village appeared to be completely inhabited by muggles. But as Harry and Kreacher approached, Kreacher had on Harry’s invisibility cloak, which was far too big for him, they noticed a couple dwellings that looked as if wizards and witches lived there. Walking down the main street, Harry couldn’t help but notice a couple houses that had plants that he had seen in the greenhouses at Hogwarts. Through some of the windows he could see a person performing a simple spell, and knew that he had found the right place.
As they progressed further into Tinworth, Harry noticed that although a magical community it might be, Tinworth mainly consisted of muggles. In fact, Harry was so distracted by the combination of muggles and wizards that he had forgotten that Kreacher was with him.
“Master Harry,” said Kreacher suddenly. “I think we’ve found Mr. Quince’s house.”
Kreacher was right, a little past the center of town was a house clearly magical. There were fountains of witches and wizards foreign and British alike. There was a flag of the Chudley Cannons waving lazily in the breeze; Harry immediately thought of Ron with a pang of guilt. And there was, Harry thought, a hovering garden that just floated behind the house. Surely this house was invisible to muggles, Harry thought.
Slightly taken aback by its appearance, Harry and Kreacher made their way through the front yard, quickly stuffing Harry’s invisibility cloak back into his pouch. Once they got to the front door, Harry hesitated, then knocked. Almost immediately, the door was flung open to show a wizard that clearly could have been best friends with Xenophilius Lovegood.
Hambledon Quince stood there facing Harry and Kreacher with a lopsided smile on his face. He was wearing bright blue robes with a yellow and orange wizards hat. In one hand was a goblet filled with green liquid and in the other, was a copy of the Quibbler. Hambledon Quince had the same build as Ludo Bagman; he had a muscular build that looked as if it has
wasted away ever so slightly year after year.
“May I help you?” asked Mr. Quince in a high, giddy voice.
“Mr. Quince,” replied Harry, trying to sound as polite as possible. “My name is Harry Potter, and this is my house-elf Kreacher. I’m looking to travel abroad and was advised to seek out your advice from a mutual friend of ours, Mr. Ollivander.”
“Ah, good old Olly!” shouted Mr. Quince in an excited voice. “How is the old codger?”
“Er, he’s good,” replied Harry.
“Well come in, come in,” said Mr. Quince. “No sense in standing around outside all day.”
Mr. Quince invited Harry and Kreacher inside his house. Harry stepped over the threshold and his first impression was of an international festival. There seemed to be souvenirs, and pictures of Mr. Quince, from every country. Harry swore he saw him shaking hands with a vampire and some slimy creature Harry had never seen before.
“Tea?” asked Mr. Quince beckoning Harry and Kreacher to his sitting room.
“Yeah, that’d be great,” replied Harry, accepting a cup of steaming tea from Mr. Quince. “Oh and Mr. Ollivander gave me this scroll to give to you.”
“Did he now?” replied Mr. Quince, taking the scroll from Harry.
Mr. Quince opened the scroll and began to read, his smile getting wider and wider as he read on. When he finished reading, Mr. Quince began to laugh; it was a rather odd, high-pitched laugh to be coming from such a big guy.
“Olly was always a nut,” laughed Mr. Quince, wiping tears from his eyes. “Not many people saw his comical side because he is so serious with his wandlore phooey. But whenever we were abroad he loved to joke.”
Harry had a hard time picturing a funny Mr. Ollivander and decided it was better to just take Mr. Quince’s word for it.
“So Harry, you want to go abroad?” asked Mr. Quince.
“Yes,” replied Harry, burning his throat on his tea. “I wanted to go to Albania Mr. Quince.”
“Mr. Quince?” asked Mr. Quince. “Nobody here by that name my boy. Call me Hammy. Much more quaint don’t you think?”
“Er…yeah,” replied Harry, uncertain of what to say.
“Well, I’ve only been to Albania once,” began Hammy. “People associate it with Dark Arts, so naturally most steer clear. However it was a most illuminating trip; very dangerous and not for the fainthearted.”
“Well I’m going there for a little research,” said Harry. “I’m not looking for any trouble…”
“In Albania,” interjected Hammy, “ trouble finds you.”
“Well I’ll try my hardest to keep that from happening,” replied Harry confidently.
Hammy eyed Harry carefully, as if putting him through a character test. Finally, he got up, walked over to a chest, kicked it open and began looking for something.
“I know I’ve got a map here somewhere,” muttered Hammy. “It is a bit old and may not be the prettiest looking thing but it’ll do the job.”
Hammy seemed to find the map he was looking for, closed the chest and walked back over to Harry, handing him the map. Harry unraveled the map and quickly looked over it.
“Now Albania isn’t the easiest place to reach. You could always take a train from France or a boat from here to an Albanian seaport called Durres,” suggested Hammy absentmindedly.
Harry dreaded the idea of him and Kreacher traveling by muggle transport for weeks. How would he keep Kreacher from the view of the muggles? Harry wished there was an easier way to travel far distances only for witches and wizards. As if Hammy could read his mind.
“I’m sure you’ve heard of a portkey?” asked Hammy.
“Yeah, I’ve used them a couple of times,” replied Harry.
“Well, to allow for easier traveling between countries, wizards set up a system, called the Portkey Post Passages, that is similar in theory to a portkey,” began Hammy. “It consists of posts located in a city or two throughout each country. You can travel between each post just like a portkey, except that it is based on a schedule similar to that of a train schedule in the muggle world.”
Immediately Harry liked this idea of traveling by the Portkey Post Passages. It would save him time, money and the headache of having to hide Kreacher from muggles.
“The only thing is that you can travel to a post in the neighboring countries only. That is to say, you couldn’t take a post from here directly to Albania. You’d have to make a few stops on the way and it would probably take you a couple days to finally reach Albania.”
“That’s fine,” replied Harry enthusiastically.
“Well then Mr. Potter,” enthused Hammy, clapping his hands together. “It looks as though we’ve found you a way in. Now, the only obstacle is keeping you out of trouble whilst abroad.”
Over the next couple hours, Harry and Hammy discussed traveling tips, strategies for going unnoticed and anything else they could think of that would give Harry the best chance of success on his journey. Meanwhile, Kreacher was either avidly listening to the conversation, making mental notes, or studying the map of Albania in greater detail.
Finally, after most of the afternoon had gone by, Hammy stood up and stretched.
“Well Mr. Potter, I don’t see any sense in you leaving now,” began Hammy. “The posts departing here are most likely done for the day and won’t begin again until tomorrow morning. Therefore, I insist you spend the night.”
“Well…I don’t want to intrude,” muttered Harry.
“Nonsense my dear boy,” beamed Hammy, clapping Harry on the back. “You and Kreacher can share the guest room.”
“Alright,” agreed Harry. “Thanks a bunch.”
“Master Harry, Mr. Quince,” said Kreacher. “Kreacher will make dinner if you should likes.”
“Excellent,” said Hammy grinning as Kreacher headed off to the kitchen. “I make a terrible cook.”
“Don’t worry,” said Harry. “Kreacher’s one of the best I know.”
Later that night, after an excellent steak-and-kidney pie for dinner, Harry was lying on his back in bed, nervous, but excited, for the journey to begin the following morning.
“Kreacher?” whispered Harry.
“Yes Master Harry,” replied Kreacher from somewhere in the dark room.
“I’m glad you came with me,” admitted Harry.
For this journey wasn’t looking anything less than formidable and Harry was glad someone would be by his side every step of the way.
“You’re welcome Master Harry,” replied Kreacher.
And with that, Harry turned on his side and fell fast asleep.
--------------------------------
Please leave feedback!!
-Nick
HJP
P.S. - I love Harry & Hammy
Please leave feedback if you end up reading!!
-Nick
HJP
Chapter 11
Tinworth
Tinworth
Harry and Kreacher arrived outside of the Leaky Cauldron ten minutes later, for Harry thought it best to apparate to a less busy street. Walking through the door, Harry found the Leaky Cauldron much busier than the last time he was here. It seemed that with the fall of Lord Voldemort, the wizarding world was back to normal. Tom, the bald barman, was busy serving the full bar. But that didn’t stop him from welcoming Harry to the pub and Harry soon found himself shaking hands with almost everyone in the bar. It was similar to his very first visit when he was with Hagrid. People were congratulating him on his defeat of the darkest wizard of all time and were eager to shake The Chosen One’s hand.
After ten minutes of hurried congratulations, Harry walked out to the brick wall behind the bar. Taping the brick above the garbage can, it began to melt away into an entranceway into Diagon Alley.
Diagon Alley was also back to normal. All of the shops that were previously closed up were reopened. Harry noted that some were under new management because the owners were either killed in Voldemort’s short govern, or because the previous owner’s decided it was time to retire. However, on the whole, most of the old owners were back in business; including, to Harry’s delight, Florean Fortescue.
Making his way through Diagon Alley, Harry found himself at the foot of a tall, white building everyone knew as Gringotts. Harry remembered coming here last time, with Hermione as Bellatrix Lestrange and Ron as Bellatrix’s, supposed, foreign friend. Harry walked through the two sets of doors and made his way to one of the many counters; behind which, sat many goblins.
“Harry Potter,” noted the goblin behind the counter Harry walked up to. “You’ve been up to a lot since we last saw each other.”
Harry was taken aback to see that he was face-to-face with Griphook. Harry couldn’t help but feel some resentment towards Griphook. After all, he did not make Harry’s escape from Gringotts any easier.
“Yeah I have,” replied Harry. “I’ve come to make a withdrawal.”
“Do you have your key?” asked Griphook.
“Yeah, it’s right here,” said Harry, taking his key out from his pocket and handing it over to the goblin.
“Right, well everything seems to be in order. If you’ll just follow me,” replied Griphook, as he lead Harry and Kreacher to one of the doors leading off of the main hallway to the many vaults located under London.
Harry, Kreacher, and Griphook climbed into the cart and took off at a neck breaking speed to Harry’s vault.
“Vault 687,” announced Griphook, as their cart came to a sudden halt.
They stepped out of the cart and Griphook unlocked the vault with Harry’s key. The vault door opened to reveal an enormous sum of gold, for Sirius’ gold was added to Harry’s vault when he died. Harry withdrew more gold than he ever previously had, but the difference wasn’t noticeable.
After Harry tucked away him money sacks in his mokeskin pouch, and one speedy cart ride back to the main hallway, Harry and Kreacher found themselves once again back outside the snowy white wizarding bank.
Harry made his way through Diagon Alley until he found the shop he was looking for, Ollivander’s. Harry was pleased to see that it was reopened and seemed to be doing well. Harry pushed open the door and a small bell chimed somewhere in the depths of the store.
Harry looked around at the high walls, filled with hundreds of boxes; inside each was a different wand. He remembered getting his wand eight years ago, not believing that he, Harry Potter, could be a wizard.
“Harry Potter,” came a faint voice from behind the counter, startling Harry. “What a privilege it is to see you again Mr. Potter.”
“Mr. Ollivander,” replied Harry, smiling. “I hope I find you well?”
“Oh yes my dear boy,” said Ollivander happily. “Much better than when you last saw me.”
Harry had to admit that he liked Mr. Ollivander a lot more after all they went through last year. He remembered not liking him on the first couple meetings between the two. But escaping the Malfoy’s seemed to have created a unique bond between the two.
“Mr. Ollivander,” said Harry. “I need a favor from you.”
“Anything,” replied Ollivander immediately. “You saved my life and I shall never forget that. What kind I do for you?”
“Well…” began Harry. “I’m looking to go…er…abroad and I was wondering what the best way to approach that was. I assume you cannot simply apart across the ocean?”
“No no no,” replied Ollivander, thinking hard. “Apparition is very useful, very true, but it does have its limits.”
Ollivander returned behind his counter and pulled out a quill and some parchment. He began scribbling feverishly while talking to Harry.
“I have a friend in a town called Tinworth,” said Ollivander, not looking up from the parchment. “He’s retired now, but back in his day, he used travel abroad quite often. If anyone knows more about traveling abroad than he does, than I’m a hippogriff.”
Chuckling to himself, Mr. Ollivander signed the finished note, magically sealed it and handed it over to Harry.
“His name’s Hambledon Quince, and he lives right on the main street,” said Mr. Ollivander, chortling to himself. “You can’t miss his house.”
“Thanks a bunch Mr. Ollivander,” replied Harry, slipping the note into his mokeskin pouch. “It was great to see you again.”
“And you my dear boy,” said Mr. Ollivander, smiling at Harry. “Have a great trip, you deserve it.”
And with that, Mr. Ollivander bowed Harry out of his shop. Harry and Kreacher walked back into the courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron. Grabbing hold of Kreacher’s hand, Harry turned on the spot and they both disappeared with a loud crack.
***********************
The pair of them appeared on the outskirts of a small village. From the looks of it, the village appeared to be completely inhabited by muggles. But as Harry and Kreacher approached, Kreacher had on Harry’s invisibility cloak, which was far too big for him, they noticed a couple dwellings that looked as if wizards and witches lived there. Walking down the main street, Harry couldn’t help but notice a couple houses that had plants that he had seen in the greenhouses at Hogwarts. Through some of the windows he could see a person performing a simple spell, and knew that he had found the right place.
As they progressed further into Tinworth, Harry noticed that although a magical community it might be, Tinworth mainly consisted of muggles. In fact, Harry was so distracted by the combination of muggles and wizards that he had forgotten that Kreacher was with him.
“Master Harry,” said Kreacher suddenly. “I think we’ve found Mr. Quince’s house.”
Kreacher was right, a little past the center of town was a house clearly magical. There were fountains of witches and wizards foreign and British alike. There was a flag of the Chudley Cannons waving lazily in the breeze; Harry immediately thought of Ron with a pang of guilt. And there was, Harry thought, a hovering garden that just floated behind the house. Surely this house was invisible to muggles, Harry thought.
Slightly taken aback by its appearance, Harry and Kreacher made their way through the front yard, quickly stuffing Harry’s invisibility cloak back into his pouch. Once they got to the front door, Harry hesitated, then knocked. Almost immediately, the door was flung open to show a wizard that clearly could have been best friends with Xenophilius Lovegood.
Hambledon Quince stood there facing Harry and Kreacher with a lopsided smile on his face. He was wearing bright blue robes with a yellow and orange wizards hat. In one hand was a goblet filled with green liquid and in the other, was a copy of the Quibbler. Hambledon Quince had the same build as Ludo Bagman; he had a muscular build that looked as if it has
wasted away ever so slightly year after year.
“May I help you?” asked Mr. Quince in a high, giddy voice.
“Mr. Quince,” replied Harry, trying to sound as polite as possible. “My name is Harry Potter, and this is my house-elf Kreacher. I’m looking to travel abroad and was advised to seek out your advice from a mutual friend of ours, Mr. Ollivander.”
“Ah, good old Olly!” shouted Mr. Quince in an excited voice. “How is the old codger?”
“Er, he’s good,” replied Harry.
“Well come in, come in,” said Mr. Quince. “No sense in standing around outside all day.”
Mr. Quince invited Harry and Kreacher inside his house. Harry stepped over the threshold and his first impression was of an international festival. There seemed to be souvenirs, and pictures of Mr. Quince, from every country. Harry swore he saw him shaking hands with a vampire and some slimy creature Harry had never seen before.
“Tea?” asked Mr. Quince beckoning Harry and Kreacher to his sitting room.
“Yeah, that’d be great,” replied Harry, accepting a cup of steaming tea from Mr. Quince. “Oh and Mr. Ollivander gave me this scroll to give to you.”
“Did he now?” replied Mr. Quince, taking the scroll from Harry.
Mr. Quince opened the scroll and began to read, his smile getting wider and wider as he read on. When he finished reading, Mr. Quince began to laugh; it was a rather odd, high-pitched laugh to be coming from such a big guy.
“Olly was always a nut,” laughed Mr. Quince, wiping tears from his eyes. “Not many people saw his comical side because he is so serious with his wandlore phooey. But whenever we were abroad he loved to joke.”
Harry had a hard time picturing a funny Mr. Ollivander and decided it was better to just take Mr. Quince’s word for it.
“So Harry, you want to go abroad?” asked Mr. Quince.
“Yes,” replied Harry, burning his throat on his tea. “I wanted to go to Albania Mr. Quince.”
“Mr. Quince?” asked Mr. Quince. “Nobody here by that name my boy. Call me Hammy. Much more quaint don’t you think?”
“Er…yeah,” replied Harry, uncertain of what to say.
“Well, I’ve only been to Albania once,” began Hammy. “People associate it with Dark Arts, so naturally most steer clear. However it was a most illuminating trip; very dangerous and not for the fainthearted.”
“Well I’m going there for a little research,” said Harry. “I’m not looking for any trouble…”
“In Albania,” interjected Hammy, “ trouble finds you.”
“Well I’ll try my hardest to keep that from happening,” replied Harry confidently.
Hammy eyed Harry carefully, as if putting him through a character test. Finally, he got up, walked over to a chest, kicked it open and began looking for something.
“I know I’ve got a map here somewhere,” muttered Hammy. “It is a bit old and may not be the prettiest looking thing but it’ll do the job.”
Hammy seemed to find the map he was looking for, closed the chest and walked back over to Harry, handing him the map. Harry unraveled the map and quickly looked over it.
“Now Albania isn’t the easiest place to reach. You could always take a train from France or a boat from here to an Albanian seaport called Durres,” suggested Hammy absentmindedly.
Harry dreaded the idea of him and Kreacher traveling by muggle transport for weeks. How would he keep Kreacher from the view of the muggles? Harry wished there was an easier way to travel far distances only for witches and wizards. As if Hammy could read his mind.
“I’m sure you’ve heard of a portkey?” asked Hammy.
“Yeah, I’ve used them a couple of times,” replied Harry.
“Well, to allow for easier traveling between countries, wizards set up a system, called the Portkey Post Passages, that is similar in theory to a portkey,” began Hammy. “It consists of posts located in a city or two throughout each country. You can travel between each post just like a portkey, except that it is based on a schedule similar to that of a train schedule in the muggle world.”
Immediately Harry liked this idea of traveling by the Portkey Post Passages. It would save him time, money and the headache of having to hide Kreacher from muggles.
“The only thing is that you can travel to a post in the neighboring countries only. That is to say, you couldn’t take a post from here directly to Albania. You’d have to make a few stops on the way and it would probably take you a couple days to finally reach Albania.”
“That’s fine,” replied Harry enthusiastically.
“Well then Mr. Potter,” enthused Hammy, clapping his hands together. “It looks as though we’ve found you a way in. Now, the only obstacle is keeping you out of trouble whilst abroad.”
Over the next couple hours, Harry and Hammy discussed traveling tips, strategies for going unnoticed and anything else they could think of that would give Harry the best chance of success on his journey. Meanwhile, Kreacher was either avidly listening to the conversation, making mental notes, or studying the map of Albania in greater detail.
Finally, after most of the afternoon had gone by, Hammy stood up and stretched.
“Well Mr. Potter, I don’t see any sense in you leaving now,” began Hammy. “The posts departing here are most likely done for the day and won’t begin again until tomorrow morning. Therefore, I insist you spend the night.”
“Well…I don’t want to intrude,” muttered Harry.
“Nonsense my dear boy,” beamed Hammy, clapping Harry on the back. “You and Kreacher can share the guest room.”
“Alright,” agreed Harry. “Thanks a bunch.”
“Master Harry, Mr. Quince,” said Kreacher. “Kreacher will make dinner if you should likes.”
“Excellent,” said Hammy grinning as Kreacher headed off to the kitchen. “I make a terrible cook.”
“Don’t worry,” said Harry. “Kreacher’s one of the best I know.”
Later that night, after an excellent steak-and-kidney pie for dinner, Harry was lying on his back in bed, nervous, but excited, for the journey to begin the following morning.
“Kreacher?” whispered Harry.
“Yes Master Harry,” replied Kreacher from somewhere in the dark room.
“I’m glad you came with me,” admitted Harry.
For this journey wasn’t looking anything less than formidable and Harry was glad someone would be by his side every step of the way.
“You’re welcome Master Harry,” replied Kreacher.
And with that, Harry turned on his side and fell fast asleep.
--------------------------------
Please leave feedback!!
-Nick
HJP
P.S. - I love Harry & Hammy
As promised, I'm writing as much as possible to keep this fanfic alive I hope you ll like this chapter and please leave feedback (even if you don't like it!)
-Nick
HJP
Ron awoke early to his mother’s shouts.
“Ron!” shouted Mrs. Weasley from the stairs. “Wake up Ron, we’re leaving for Diagon Alley in half an hour.”
Ron rolled, sleepily, out of bed and began searching for his clothes. Why they were leaving for Diagon Alley so early, he had no idea and he longed to be back asleep.
“Hurry up Ron!” yelled Hermione from the stairs.
Ron grudgingly made his way down to the kitchen and found himself a seat in front of some kippers and toast.
“Why, in Merlin’s name, are we leaving so early?” yawned Ron.
“Because, I want to get there and get back before lunch,” replied Mrs. Weasley sternly. “Bill and Fleur want to stop by and I don’t want to keep them waiting.”
“Mom…they can apparate,” said Ron exasperated.
“Ronald Weasley, you can come with us now or not go at all,” said Mrs. Weasley. “Either one’s fine with me.”
“Alright alright,” mumbled Ron.
The Weasleys and Hermione were ready to leave for Diagon Alley within the hour and by the time they arrived to the Leaky Cauldron, it was in full swing for breakfast. The large group made their way through the crowded bar and out into the back courtyard. Taping the brick above the garbage can, they congregated just inside Diagon Alley.
“Ginny and I are going to Gringotts to withdraw some money. I’ll meet you and Hermione at Flourish and Blotts in half an hour,” said Mrs. Weasley, dragging a reluctant Ginny with her down Diagon Alley.
Ron and Hermione sought out Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor and sat down at a table. Once they had settled themselves Florean made his way to their table.
“What can I get for you today?” asked Florean pleasantly.
“Two of your Sweet Sundaes please,” replied Hermione, smiling up at him.
“Sundaes at this hour? I like your style of thinking,” said Florean brightly. “Where’s Mr. Potter, I always thought you three were as thick as thieves.”
“He’s umm…he couldn’t come today,” stuttered Hermione as Florean turned back towards his store.
“I wonder where Harry really is?” asked Ron, clearly missing his best friend.
“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” said Hermione thoughtfully. “You don’t think something’s seriously wrong do you?”
“There couldn’t be could there? I mean, he’s always told us if it’s something serious, right?” asked Ron uncertainly.
“Well…I don’t know,” replied Hermione slowly. “He always tried to go everything alone. If we didn’t insist us accompanying him, he probably would have tried to do everything by himself. But what could make him leave like this all of the sudden?”
“Maybe…maybe it has something to do with You-Know-Who,” said Ron.
“Impossible,” replied Hermione immediately. “He’s dead, we saw it ourselves.”
“I know,” said Ron, with his face in his hands. “But what else could drag Harry away like this. I mean, we’re supposed to be his best friends. And he left Ginny remember?”
“Hmm,” was all Hermione replied with, as Florean brought them their sundaes.
Ron and Hermione sat there in silence, eating their ice cream and thinking hard about what Harry was up to. After their ice creams were gone, Ron and Hermione left eight sickles on the table and made their way to Flourish and Blotts to meet up with Mrs. Weasley and Ginny.
“Over here,” waved Mrs. Weasley excitedly. “They’re having a discount all summer in celebration of You-Know-Who’s downfall! Isn’t it great? We’ll save bundles! Go find your books and meet me back here.”
Ginny went to one corner of the bookstore to find her books for her sixth year, while Ron and Hermione made their way towards the back of the store.
“I can’t believe Hogwarts is completely repeating last year,” said Ron, looking at a complicated book about ‘Toads and Their Complicated Role In Life.’ “Who wants to read this load of rubbish?”
“You’d be surprised to know that toads play a useful role in the wizarding world,” replied Hermione smartly.
“Yeah, they’re great pets for Neville,” replied Ron sarcastically.
“Ha ha,” said Hermione, while examining an arithmancy book.
They made their way further into the store until they were standing at the back wall, right next to a curtain-draped doorframe.
“So, when do you think we’ll see Harry again?” asked Ron, clearly continuing the conversation from earlier.
“Well, he’s not coming back to Hogwarts this year,” replied Hermione. “Maybe Christmas. If not then, my next guess would be after this school year.”
“I really hope that doesn’t happen,” said Ron gloomily. “Do you think he might just need more time to get over…you know?”
“That’s quite possible,” stated Hermione. “If that’s the case, then I hope he figures it out soon and comes back to school. He really needs to finish his education.”
“You and your books,” laughed Ron, and they made their way back to Mrs. Weasley.
As they retreated towards the front of the store, neither of them noticed the curtain ruffle as Draco Malfoy stepped out from behind it. He had been listening to their conversation; hiding behind the curtain when he saw them making their way towards him.
So Potter’s not coming back to school, thought Draco. It sounded as if something was wrong and he would be absent for quite some time. What was even more intriguing to Draco was that Weasley and Granger didn’t know anything about it. That must mean it’s important and not just Potter feeling sorry for himself.
As Draco made his way back into Diagon Alley, keeping his distance from the Weasleys, an idea occurred to him. If Potter is gone for a long period of time, skipping his final year at Hogwarts and not telling his best friends about it, it must concern…But no, how could he possibly know that Barty Crouch Jr. was back. Then again, Potter always did have a connection with the Dark Lord. And Crouch said that the Dark Lord was back.
Draco concluded that Potter knew, somehow, about Crouch being back. Did this mean that he knew what his father’s role was? Draco was filled with temporary fear, until he remembered how much hatred he felt towards his father when he learned his father wanted the Dark Lord back. Hadn’t he learned his lesson? Draco, needing to see his father immediately, turned on the spot and disapparated.
Draco ran up the lawn and slammed the front door open as he sought his father. He paused, catching his breath and listening for any sign of his dad. After a second or two, faint voices trickled in from the drawing room and Draco rushed towards it.
Bursting through the doors, Draco stumbled as he saw his father talking face-to-face with Barty Crouch Jr.
“Draco,” spat Lucius. “What are you doing? I told you not to interrupt me ever again.”
“Sor…sorry,” replied Draco, backing slowly towards the door he just entered. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Turning on the spot, Draco strode from the room and was closing the door when someone shouted from within.
“That’s twice boy,” shouted Crouch. “One more and you’ll be apologizing for more than an interruption.
Draco shut the door and ran to his room. Throwing himself on his cold bed, he pounded his fist into his pillow. How could his father be so stupid? He couldn’t follow his lead again. No, he wouldn’t go down that path again, but what to do?
Draco laid there for some time, debating whether he should warn Potter or not. He wasn’t fond of Potter but he didn’t want the Dark Lord back. So he decided that he should warn Potter and immediately jumped off his bed, hurrying to his desk.
Grabbing a piece of parchment and a quill, he held the point hovering above the parchment. He didn’t know what to write. For one, he didn’t know if Harry would ever get this letter. And what if Harry didn’t believe it? He could hardly blame Harry for distrusting him. Draco decided on writing something short and simple, and without signing it, rushed outside to apparate to the nearest ‘post’ station and deliver his letter. After all, he couldn’t use the family eagle or else Potter would know it was he, Draco Malfoy, helping him.
----------------------------
Please leave some feedback!!!!
-Nick
HJP
I hope you ll like this chapter and please leave feedback (even if you don't like it!)-Nick
HJP
Chapter 12
Diagon Alley
Diagon Alley
Ron awoke early to his mother’s shouts.
“Ron!” shouted Mrs. Weasley from the stairs. “Wake up Ron, we’re leaving for Diagon Alley in half an hour.”
Ron rolled, sleepily, out of bed and began searching for his clothes. Why they were leaving for Diagon Alley so early, he had no idea and he longed to be back asleep.
“Hurry up Ron!” yelled Hermione from the stairs.
Ron grudgingly made his way down to the kitchen and found himself a seat in front of some kippers and toast.
“Why, in Merlin’s name, are we leaving so early?” yawned Ron.
“Because, I want to get there and get back before lunch,” replied Mrs. Weasley sternly. “Bill and Fleur want to stop by and I don’t want to keep them waiting.”
“Mom…they can apparate,” said Ron exasperated.
“Ronald Weasley, you can come with us now or not go at all,” said Mrs. Weasley. “Either one’s fine with me.”
“Alright alright,” mumbled Ron.
The Weasleys and Hermione were ready to leave for Diagon Alley within the hour and by the time they arrived to the Leaky Cauldron, it was in full swing for breakfast. The large group made their way through the crowded bar and out into the back courtyard. Taping the brick above the garbage can, they congregated just inside Diagon Alley.
“Ginny and I are going to Gringotts to withdraw some money. I’ll meet you and Hermione at Flourish and Blotts in half an hour,” said Mrs. Weasley, dragging a reluctant Ginny with her down Diagon Alley.
Ron and Hermione sought out Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor and sat down at a table. Once they had settled themselves Florean made his way to their table.
“What can I get for you today?” asked Florean pleasantly.
“Two of your Sweet Sundaes please,” replied Hermione, smiling up at him.
“Sundaes at this hour? I like your style of thinking,” said Florean brightly. “Where’s Mr. Potter, I always thought you three were as thick as thieves.”
“He’s umm…he couldn’t come today,” stuttered Hermione as Florean turned back towards his store.
“I wonder where Harry really is?” asked Ron, clearly missing his best friend.
“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” said Hermione thoughtfully. “You don’t think something’s seriously wrong do you?”
“There couldn’t be could there? I mean, he’s always told us if it’s something serious, right?” asked Ron uncertainly.
“Well…I don’t know,” replied Hermione slowly. “He always tried to go everything alone. If we didn’t insist us accompanying him, he probably would have tried to do everything by himself. But what could make him leave like this all of the sudden?”
“Maybe…maybe it has something to do with You-Know-Who,” said Ron.
“Impossible,” replied Hermione immediately. “He’s dead, we saw it ourselves.”
“I know,” said Ron, with his face in his hands. “But what else could drag Harry away like this. I mean, we’re supposed to be his best friends. And he left Ginny remember?”
“Hmm,” was all Hermione replied with, as Florean brought them their sundaes.
Ron and Hermione sat there in silence, eating their ice cream and thinking hard about what Harry was up to. After their ice creams were gone, Ron and Hermione left eight sickles on the table and made their way to Flourish and Blotts to meet up with Mrs. Weasley and Ginny.
“Over here,” waved Mrs. Weasley excitedly. “They’re having a discount all summer in celebration of You-Know-Who’s downfall! Isn’t it great? We’ll save bundles! Go find your books and meet me back here.”
Ginny went to one corner of the bookstore to find her books for her sixth year, while Ron and Hermione made their way towards the back of the store.
“I can’t believe Hogwarts is completely repeating last year,” said Ron, looking at a complicated book about ‘Toads and Their Complicated Role In Life.’ “Who wants to read this load of rubbish?”
“You’d be surprised to know that toads play a useful role in the wizarding world,” replied Hermione smartly.
“Yeah, they’re great pets for Neville,” replied Ron sarcastically.
“Ha ha,” said Hermione, while examining an arithmancy book.
They made their way further into the store until they were standing at the back wall, right next to a curtain-draped doorframe.
“So, when do you think we’ll see Harry again?” asked Ron, clearly continuing the conversation from earlier.
“Well, he’s not coming back to Hogwarts this year,” replied Hermione. “Maybe Christmas. If not then, my next guess would be after this school year.”
“I really hope that doesn’t happen,” said Ron gloomily. “Do you think he might just need more time to get over…you know?”
“That’s quite possible,” stated Hermione. “If that’s the case, then I hope he figures it out soon and comes back to school. He really needs to finish his education.”
“You and your books,” laughed Ron, and they made their way back to Mrs. Weasley.
As they retreated towards the front of the store, neither of them noticed the curtain ruffle as Draco Malfoy stepped out from behind it. He had been listening to their conversation; hiding behind the curtain when he saw them making their way towards him.
So Potter’s not coming back to school, thought Draco. It sounded as if something was wrong and he would be absent for quite some time. What was even more intriguing to Draco was that Weasley and Granger didn’t know anything about it. That must mean it’s important and not just Potter feeling sorry for himself.
As Draco made his way back into Diagon Alley, keeping his distance from the Weasleys, an idea occurred to him. If Potter is gone for a long period of time, skipping his final year at Hogwarts and not telling his best friends about it, it must concern…But no, how could he possibly know that Barty Crouch Jr. was back. Then again, Potter always did have a connection with the Dark Lord. And Crouch said that the Dark Lord was back.
Draco concluded that Potter knew, somehow, about Crouch being back. Did this mean that he knew what his father’s role was? Draco was filled with temporary fear, until he remembered how much hatred he felt towards his father when he learned his father wanted the Dark Lord back. Hadn’t he learned his lesson? Draco, needing to see his father immediately, turned on the spot and disapparated.
Draco ran up the lawn and slammed the front door open as he sought his father. He paused, catching his breath and listening for any sign of his dad. After a second or two, faint voices trickled in from the drawing room and Draco rushed towards it.
Bursting through the doors, Draco stumbled as he saw his father talking face-to-face with Barty Crouch Jr.
“Draco,” spat Lucius. “What are you doing? I told you not to interrupt me ever again.”
“Sor…sorry,” replied Draco, backing slowly towards the door he just entered. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Turning on the spot, Draco strode from the room and was closing the door when someone shouted from within.
“That’s twice boy,” shouted Crouch. “One more and you’ll be apologizing for more than an interruption.
Draco shut the door and ran to his room. Throwing himself on his cold bed, he pounded his fist into his pillow. How could his father be so stupid? He couldn’t follow his lead again. No, he wouldn’t go down that path again, but what to do?
Draco laid there for some time, debating whether he should warn Potter or not. He wasn’t fond of Potter but he didn’t want the Dark Lord back. So he decided that he should warn Potter and immediately jumped off his bed, hurrying to his desk.
Grabbing a piece of parchment and a quill, he held the point hovering above the parchment. He didn’t know what to write. For one, he didn’t know if Harry would ever get this letter. And what if Harry didn’t believe it? He could hardly blame Harry for distrusting him. Draco decided on writing something short and simple, and without signing it, rushed outside to apparate to the nearest ‘post’ station and deliver his letter. After all, he couldn’t use the family eagle or else Potter would know it was he, Draco Malfoy, helping him.
----------------------------
Please leave some feedback!!!!
-Nick
HJP
Hello all-
Here's the next chapter, as promised. It's a quaint little chapter, that has a little touch of humor and a brief appearance of the "good ol' Kreacher." So enjoy and pleave leave some feedback (good or bad)!
-Nick
HJP
Harry and Hammy were walking down the main street in Tinworth, with Kreacher under the overly large invisibility cloak. The sun was just appearing from behind the hill, making the empty streets look quite picturesque. As they walked towards a destination unknown to Harry, Hammy was talking avidly about his adventures whilest abroad.
“And I’ll tell ya Harry, I’ll tell ya,” babbled on Hammy. “Those muggles really have built some pretty buildings. Even a couple of their castles come close to the magnificence of our dear ol’ Hogwarts, eh?”
“Blabbering idiot,” whispered Kreacher in a low-tone. “Boring Master and filling his head with useless filth about the mudbloods and muggles. If Kreacher had his way…”
“Hammy!” said Harry louder than he meant to, trying to cover up Kreacher’s mutterings. “Sorry, umm where is this post thing?”
“Portkey Post Pads,” corrected Hammy. “Remember the ‘Ten P’s’, Portkey Post Passages Preside at Portkey Post Pads Positioned Perfectly among the muggle People. I personally find this anagram very helpful in remembering the basics about portkey post traveling.”
Harry couldn’t even fathom how that anagram could help anyone remember what portkey post passages or pads were. The idea was absolutely absurd. Who would ever remember an anagram that long? But Hammy was talking again, so Harry pulled himself out of the state of incredibility and listened once more.
“Now these Portkey Post Pads are hidden from muggles,” stated Hammy, turning down a side street. “Very similar to Diagon Alley and Platform Nine and Three Quarters. We’re nearly there.”
Hammy lead the way further down the side street, passing houses and a dingy old bar with a muggle leaning against the front door, unconscious. Hammy took a left down a dirt lane in between two high hedgerows. Making their way further down the lane, Hammy seemed as though he was looking for something. Peering at the left hedgerow he finally stopped and turned around grinning at Harry.
“Are you ready to see your first Portkey Post Pad?” asked Hammy, excitement etched across his face.”
“Definitely,” replied Harry, looking around for any sign of a traveling outpost for
wizards.
Hammy turned from Harry and faced the left hedgerow, pulling his wand out. Pointing it at the hedgerow he uttered Portus Revelio and stepped back as a section of the hedgerow began to dissolve before their eyes.
Harry blinked and found himself looking at what looked like a town square with shops and stalls surrounding the edges and at the far end, a blue tent with a sign that read Portkey Post Passages – Tickets & Schedules. In the middle of the square was a fountain and some benches where a couple of wizards and witches were sitting. As Harry and Hammy passed them, he caught a bit of one couple’s conversation.
“What time did they say their post came in?” asked the witch, dressed in purple robes.
“The 6:45am posts I believe,” replied the wizard, checking a schedule in his hand. “But it says here that the only post coming in from Paris is at 7:00am.”
“Well that can’t be right,” snapped the witch, grabbing the schedule from her husband and scanning it.
As they made their way towards the blue tent, Harry scanned the square repeatedly, trying to see a post; but he couldn’t find it.
“Hammy, where is the portkey post pad?” asked Harry, turning around in case they had already passed it.
“Through there,” replied Hammy
And Harry turned around to find Hammy pointing at the blue tent, now ten feet in front of them. They crossed the last bit of ground between them and the tent in seconds and Harry followed Hammy through the flap in the tent.
Harry looked around, with Kreacher at his side, finally taking off the invisibility cloak. Inside the tent there was a table on the right side with two wizards sitting behind it. Behind them, on the wall was a board with the daily schedule posted on it. Harry looked around the tent and found pictures of destinations abroad, as well as maps of other countries and the location of a portkey post pad in that nation.
Harry and Hammy approached the table where the two wizards were counting tickets and gold.
“What can we do ya for?” asked the wizard on the left, not looking up from the pile of tickets in his hand.
“Well tell me this,” began Hammy. “What is your policy on accompanying house-elfs?”
“Half-price ticket,” grunted the wizard on the right, still counting a pile of coins in front
of him.
“Then we’d like one-and-a-half tickets please,” said Hammy, chuckling to himself.
“Destination?” asked the wizard on the left.
“Ghent, Belgium,” replied Hammy.
Harry and Hammy spent the previous night making a route to Albania. Harry would be traveling from England to Belgium to Germany to Austria and continuing down the coast of the Adriatic Sea to Albania.
“Twelve sickles,” said the wizard, stretching out his hand to accept the silver.
Harry retrieved his money from the mokeskin pouch and paid. As he dropped the sickles into the outstretched hand of the wizard, the wizard looked up at him and froze.
“Hey, you look an awful like Harry Potter,” said the wizard, elbowing his partner.
“Oh…umm no, I…” stammered Harry.
“You are Harry Potter,” shouted the second wizard excitedly, grasping Harry’s hand and shaking it. “What an honor to meet you.”
“Out of the way you old lump, I’ve got to give him his ticket,” interjected the first wizard, pushing his companion sideways into his chair. “Here you go Mr. Potter. You’re gonna be wanting Post #2 and your trip leaves at 7:05am.”
“Thanks,” replied Harry, taking his ticket with his left hand because the first wizard was now ringing his right. “I’d best be going now.”
“Of course, of course,” said the wizard, regrouping himself. “Right through the back flap then.”
Harry, Hammy and Kreacher walked through the flap opposite of the one they came in and Harry was looking at his first Portkey Post Pad. It was another clearing just like the first one, except there were no shops, no stalls and no fountains. Instead there was a platform, raised a foot or so above the ground, in the middle of the square. Stationed on this platform were four posts, all a couple feet taller than Harry, and above each was a number between one and four. The posts were made out of wood and were about a foot thick. Attached to each post were ropes that wizards would grab onto in case there wasn’t room for them to touch the post itself.
“Well Harry, I guess this is it,” said Hammy, turning to face Harry.
“Thanks for everything Hammy,” replied Harry, shaking hands with Hammy. “Really, you’ve been a great help.”
“Harry it was my pleasure,” said Hammy. “In fact, I think I’ll go visit old Olly, it really has been too long.”
A clock placed on the backside of the blue tent struck seven and a post began to glow blue. A second later, eight or so people appeared on the platform around Post #3, all touching the post with a finger. The group made their way down as a loudspeaker, also on the back of the tent (and Harry remembered seeing one on the other side of the tent as well.), announced the arrival of the group from Paris.
“Better go grab a spot on your post Harry,” said Hammy, as he watched a couple walk up to Post #2 and stood beside it. “If you have any questions at all, or if you just fancy a chat, send me an owl.”
“I’ll do that,” replied Harry.
Harry shook Hammy’s hand one more time and made his way to Post #2 with Kreacher at his side. A couple minutes later, with a few more people around the post, the first wizard came up to the post and collected the tickets from the people gathered around Post #2. When he collected Harry’s tickets, he gave him a wink.
Once all the tickets had been collected, the wizard left the platform and began making his way back to the blue tent. Harry, Kreacher and the other witches and wizards touched the post and Harry’s last glimpse of Tinworth was of Hammy waving goodbye and the Portkey Post Passage employee retreating into the blue tent. And Harry felt the hook behind his navel and with a flash of blue light, he was gone; leaving Hammy standing alone staring at the four posts with a sense of longing.
*********************
Please leave feedback!!
-Nick
HJP
Here's the next chapter, as promised. It's a quaint little chapter, that has a little touch of humor and a brief appearance of the "good ol' Kreacher." So enjoy and pleave leave some feedback (good or bad)!
-Nick
HJP
Chapter 13
Portkey Post Passages
Portkey Post Passages
Harry and Hammy were walking down the main street in Tinworth, with Kreacher under the overly large invisibility cloak. The sun was just appearing from behind the hill, making the empty streets look quite picturesque. As they walked towards a destination unknown to Harry, Hammy was talking avidly about his adventures whilest abroad.
“And I’ll tell ya Harry, I’ll tell ya,” babbled on Hammy. “Those muggles really have built some pretty buildings. Even a couple of their castles come close to the magnificence of our dear ol’ Hogwarts, eh?”
“Blabbering idiot,” whispered Kreacher in a low-tone. “Boring Master and filling his head with useless filth about the mudbloods and muggles. If Kreacher had his way…”
“Hammy!” said Harry louder than he meant to, trying to cover up Kreacher’s mutterings. “Sorry, umm where is this post thing?”
“Portkey Post Pads,” corrected Hammy. “Remember the ‘Ten P’s’, Portkey Post Passages Preside at Portkey Post Pads Positioned Perfectly among the muggle People. I personally find this anagram very helpful in remembering the basics about portkey post traveling.”
Harry couldn’t even fathom how that anagram could help anyone remember what portkey post passages or pads were. The idea was absolutely absurd. Who would ever remember an anagram that long? But Hammy was talking again, so Harry pulled himself out of the state of incredibility and listened once more.
“Now these Portkey Post Pads are hidden from muggles,” stated Hammy, turning down a side street. “Very similar to Diagon Alley and Platform Nine and Three Quarters. We’re nearly there.”
Hammy lead the way further down the side street, passing houses and a dingy old bar with a muggle leaning against the front door, unconscious. Hammy took a left down a dirt lane in between two high hedgerows. Making their way further down the lane, Hammy seemed as though he was looking for something. Peering at the left hedgerow he finally stopped and turned around grinning at Harry.
“Are you ready to see your first Portkey Post Pad?” asked Hammy, excitement etched across his face.”
“Definitely,” replied Harry, looking around for any sign of a traveling outpost for
wizards.
Hammy turned from Harry and faced the left hedgerow, pulling his wand out. Pointing it at the hedgerow he uttered Portus Revelio and stepped back as a section of the hedgerow began to dissolve before their eyes.
Harry blinked and found himself looking at what looked like a town square with shops and stalls surrounding the edges and at the far end, a blue tent with a sign that read Portkey Post Passages – Tickets & Schedules. In the middle of the square was a fountain and some benches where a couple of wizards and witches were sitting. As Harry and Hammy passed them, he caught a bit of one couple’s conversation.
“What time did they say their post came in?” asked the witch, dressed in purple robes.
“The 6:45am posts I believe,” replied the wizard, checking a schedule in his hand. “But it says here that the only post coming in from Paris is at 7:00am.”
“Well that can’t be right,” snapped the witch, grabbing the schedule from her husband and scanning it.
As they made their way towards the blue tent, Harry scanned the square repeatedly, trying to see a post; but he couldn’t find it.
“Hammy, where is the portkey post pad?” asked Harry, turning around in case they had already passed it.
“Through there,” replied Hammy
And Harry turned around to find Hammy pointing at the blue tent, now ten feet in front of them. They crossed the last bit of ground between them and the tent in seconds and Harry followed Hammy through the flap in the tent.
Harry looked around, with Kreacher at his side, finally taking off the invisibility cloak. Inside the tent there was a table on the right side with two wizards sitting behind it. Behind them, on the wall was a board with the daily schedule posted on it. Harry looked around the tent and found pictures of destinations abroad, as well as maps of other countries and the location of a portkey post pad in that nation.
Harry and Hammy approached the table where the two wizards were counting tickets and gold.
“What can we do ya for?” asked the wizard on the left, not looking up from the pile of tickets in his hand.
“Well tell me this,” began Hammy. “What is your policy on accompanying house-elfs?”
“Half-price ticket,” grunted the wizard on the right, still counting a pile of coins in front
of him.
“Then we’d like one-and-a-half tickets please,” said Hammy, chuckling to himself.
“Destination?” asked the wizard on the left.
“Ghent, Belgium,” replied Hammy.
Harry and Hammy spent the previous night making a route to Albania. Harry would be traveling from England to Belgium to Germany to Austria and continuing down the coast of the Adriatic Sea to Albania.
“Twelve sickles,” said the wizard, stretching out his hand to accept the silver.
Harry retrieved his money from the mokeskin pouch and paid. As he dropped the sickles into the outstretched hand of the wizard, the wizard looked up at him and froze.
“Hey, you look an awful like Harry Potter,” said the wizard, elbowing his partner.
“Oh…umm no, I…” stammered Harry.
“You are Harry Potter,” shouted the second wizard excitedly, grasping Harry’s hand and shaking it. “What an honor to meet you.”
“Out of the way you old lump, I’ve got to give him his ticket,” interjected the first wizard, pushing his companion sideways into his chair. “Here you go Mr. Potter. You’re gonna be wanting Post #2 and your trip leaves at 7:05am.”
“Thanks,” replied Harry, taking his ticket with his left hand because the first wizard was now ringing his right. “I’d best be going now.”
“Of course, of course,” said the wizard, regrouping himself. “Right through the back flap then.”
Harry, Hammy and Kreacher walked through the flap opposite of the one they came in and Harry was looking at his first Portkey Post Pad. It was another clearing just like the first one, except there were no shops, no stalls and no fountains. Instead there was a platform, raised a foot or so above the ground, in the middle of the square. Stationed on this platform were four posts, all a couple feet taller than Harry, and above each was a number between one and four. The posts were made out of wood and were about a foot thick. Attached to each post were ropes that wizards would grab onto in case there wasn’t room for them to touch the post itself.
“Well Harry, I guess this is it,” said Hammy, turning to face Harry.
“Thanks for everything Hammy,” replied Harry, shaking hands with Hammy. “Really, you’ve been a great help.”
“Harry it was my pleasure,” said Hammy. “In fact, I think I’ll go visit old Olly, it really has been too long.”
A clock placed on the backside of the blue tent struck seven and a post began to glow blue. A second later, eight or so people appeared on the platform around Post #3, all touching the post with a finger. The group made their way down as a loudspeaker, also on the back of the tent (and Harry remembered seeing one on the other side of the tent as well.), announced the arrival of the group from Paris.
“Better go grab a spot on your post Harry,” said Hammy, as he watched a couple walk up to Post #2 and stood beside it. “If you have any questions at all, or if you just fancy a chat, send me an owl.”
“I’ll do that,” replied Harry.
Harry shook Hammy’s hand one more time and made his way to Post #2 with Kreacher at his side. A couple minutes later, with a few more people around the post, the first wizard came up to the post and collected the tickets from the people gathered around Post #2. When he collected Harry’s tickets, he gave him a wink.
Once all the tickets had been collected, the wizard left the platform and began making his way back to the blue tent. Harry, Kreacher and the other witches and wizards touched the post and Harry’s last glimpse of Tinworth was of Hammy waving goodbye and the Portkey Post Passage employee retreating into the blue tent. And Harry felt the hook behind his navel and with a flash of blue light, he was gone; leaving Hammy standing alone staring at the four posts with a sense of longing.
*********************
Please leave feedback!!
-Nick
HJP
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