The Old Days (Part Two)
As with the first vision Harry had been shown, everything around him was depicted in a greyish hue, though this was no vision.
Harry had gone to bed to sleep, his mood not allowing him to enjoy the festivities with the others.
So, why did this feel like a vision that had invaded his dreams?
Harry didn't know but the clearing in a forest he found himself in was unsettling to say the least, and the whispering of the wind set him on edge.
"Peverell…"
Harry reached for his wand, only to find it wasn't there and the same, raspy voice laughed.
He could only frown as the Runes he'd seen Ignotus Peverell painstakingly carve into the stone of the churchyard appeared and began floating around him.
Despite having studied the subject for a year now, and reading ahead, Harry had found no others that resembled them.
It was becoming more likely that he would need help deciphering Ignotus's work, but that was not important.
"Who's there?" Harry whispered as the sound of a twig snapping sent a murder of crows fleeing from the trees.
"Peverell…"
He felt vulnerable.
Without his wand, all Harry could do was run, and he did so, the low branches whipping across his face as he sprinted through the thickets.
He ran until he no longer could and collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.
"There is no shame in running."
Harry looked up and found himself facing the familiar visages of the Peverell brothers.
It was Ignotus that had addressed him.
"Sometimes in life, we must flee…"
"And others, we must fight," Antioch interjected.
"And others, we must die. Death will claim us all."
Harry nodded and Ignotus offered him a smile before the trio vanished, replaced by the cloaked figure emerging from the trees beyond with a Thestral at its side.
He was frozen in place as Death simply stared at him for a moment.
"Danger approaches, now and in the future… it is time to rise, Harry Potter…"
Harry sat up with a gasp, his brow saturated in a cold sweat and his breathing as laboured.
He could not have been sleeping long.
The sound of the ongoing festivities could still be heard from outside the tent and Harry paused as a scream sounded in the distance.
It was not a joyous one, and as a second and a third followed, and then a cacophony.
Ensuring he had his wand, Harry stood only for Mr Weasley to burst into the tent.
"Everybody up!" he said urgently.
"What's happening?" Ron asked sleepily.
"Trouble," Mr Weasley answered. "Percy, I want you to take the others into the forest and wait for me or Charlie to find you. Hurry!"
With that, he was gone and panic ensued as the teens readied themselves.
"What do you think is happening?"
Harry shook his head.
"Whatever it is, it's bad," one of the twins said worriedly. "Dad isn't rattled easily."
"Come on, let's go," Percy urged, shepherding them from the tent and keeping hold of Ginny's arm.
It was to a scene of chaos they emerged into.
In the distance, several tents were ablaze and a sizable group garbed in black robes and what appeared to be white masks were heading in their direction with several things levitating above them.
"How could they?" Hermione whispered.
Harry's jaw clenched as he recognised the muggle family that had welcomed them into the campsite, hanging limply above the disguised figures.
He wanted to help them and his hand tightened around his wand as he took a step forward.
"Harry, come!" Percy instructed firmly.
The others were already running towards the forest a short distance away and Ignotus's words replayed in his mind.
Sometimes in life, we must flee…
Harry was in no position to take on a group of wizards, but it was reluctantly that he ran after the others, already regretting his decision by the time he entered the trees, and the rest of the Weasleys and Hermione had vanished.
Ahead of him, he could hear footsteps, but it seemed that dozens of others had the same idea of coming here to escape whatever was occurring in the campsite.
"HARRY!"
"HARRY!"
The calls were faint, but Harry took off towards them, doing his utmost to follow the voices that continued to call for him, stopping in his tracks as one of the masked figures appeared in front of him in a plume of dark smoke.
Turning to change direction, another appeared, followed by four others as he did so again, leaving him surrounded on all sides.
Despite his most unfavourable position, it was not the fear coursing through him that Harry was focused.
No, it was the coldness that lurked in the air, waiting to feast.
Death was amongst them and Harry nodded as the words of Antioch were carried to him on the gentle breeze of the summer evening.
And others, we must fight…
There was nowhere left to run and Harry narrowed his eyes as the figure in front of him raised their wand.
The others followed and the coldness only grew.
Harry would swear with his dying breath that he saw the cloaked figure looking on, but in the moment, it was not the time to ponder such a frivolity.
Snapping his wand into action as he turned, his spell took his target by surprise, and the man screamed as his chest was torn open in the same manner of a set of double doors.
"Avada Kedavra!"
He did not recognise any of the voices, but he would never forget them now.
The remaining five assailants spoke as one, and as the familiar jets of green light careened towards him, there was no satisfaction to be had that he had taken one of them with him.
All Harry felt was a cold, unbridled fury as the words of Cadmus Peverell whispered in his ear.
"And others, we must die…"
"Morsmordre!"
The last thing that Harry saw before the spells collided with him was the image of a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth lighting up the night sky, and the sound of his killers panicking as they fled.
Malfoy.
One of them was Lucius Malfoy, of that, he had no doubt.
"HARRY!"
Had someone called him?
Still, there was nothing to be done now as every fibre of his being turned to ice as he was torn from the forest and plunged into the abyss beyond, where he felt himself drowning and unable to take a much-needed breath.
(Break)
"Where is Harry?" Hermione asked.
"I don't know, he was here a minute ago," Ron wheezed.
"He was just behind us," Percy informed them, still holding onto to Ginny's arm.
"We'll go back and have a look," one of the twins decided, turning, and pointing his wand behind him at the sound of the shrubbery being disturbed.
"Bloody hell, Diggory," the other twin cursed. "What the hell is happening?"
"Death Eaters," Cedric answered.
"Have you seen Harry?"
Cedric shook his head, his eyes wide in panic at what was happening only a short distance away.
"No, I've not seen anyone. Have you seen Cho?"
"Chang?"
Cedric nodded.
"No," Percy answered. "We haven't seen anyone. Who's there?"
Another sound of the nearby trees being disturbed had distracted the group, but there was no one to be seen.
"Harry?" Hermione called tentatively.
"Like he's going to hear that," Ron huffed.
Hermione shot him a look of irritation.
"HARRY?" she called louder.
"There's spellfire over there!" Cedric gasped, pointing around a hundred metres behind them. "Come on!"
He took off towards where the flash of light had come from, pausing briefly as a bloodcurdling scream rent the air.
"HARRY?" Hermione called again, sprinting forward.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The entire wooded area was lit in an eerie green that only brightened as another incantation was spoken nearby.
"MORSMORDRE!"
Hermione could only gape at what she witnessed.
The scene she had come upon was something that not even her worst nightmares could have conjured.
She watched as the jets of light collided with Harry, and he collapsed limply to the ground.
She and Cedric, the only other who had reached him looked on as several cloaked and masked figures vanished, leaving behind the unmistakeable, lifeless form of Harry Potter.
"Harry?" Hermione choked as she fell to her knees next to him, unable to look away from his still open eyes and the almost black blood leaking from his scar. "Harry?" she tried again, shaking him by the shoulders.
"He's dead, Granger," Cedric whispered, recoiling as he placed a hand on Harry's neck to check for a pulse. "Merlin, he's ice cold."
Cupping Harry's cheek, Hermione too pulled away.
He was unnaturally cold, and she shivered as she felt the same coldness permeating around them.
With a sudden choking sound, Harry took a deep breath and sat up, sending Hermione backwards in shock, her eyes wide as she and Cedric looked at one another.
They knew what they had witnessed, and yet, Harry was here breathing, his eyes feral as he took in his surroundings, and the cold only grew intensely.
He had been dead.
Both she and Cedric had witnessed him being murdered.
Cedric was as speechless as she was, and simply gaped, probably questioning if they had been mistaken in what they had seen.
No.
Both of them could not have made such an error.
Still, who would believe them?
Even as Ron and the other Weasleys arrived, it was not to look upon the same thing Hermione and Cedric had.
No, none would believe what they had seen, and Hermione couldn't even begin to comprehend how she would explain such a phenomenon.
(Break)
Once more, everything was grey, and Harry found himself in the familiar surroundings of the churchyard in Godric's Hollow.
It took a moment for his mind to clear enough to remember what had happened leading to him being here, but when the haze cleared, he swallowed deeply.
He was dead.
Murdered.
His jaw tightened at the very thought.
Harry had known that there were those who wished him dead, but he had not considered that he would be ambushed in such a way.
Had it merely been a coincidence?
No.
Harry would not profess to know Lucius Malfoy well. He did know, however, that this had not been a merely opportunistic happening. Malfoy had planned this.
If only he could have taken the man with him…
Death was something he had become intimately familiar with, and he had come to not fear it like most others. Harry had watched several of his ancestors pass on, and though he wished his time had not come, he was not scared.
He was bitter at the circumstances, and he would be at peace had he dragged Lucius along with him to sweeten his end, yet, he wasn't scared.
Despite this, he did wonder why it was he had been brought here.
Was this the afterlife he had been granted?
"Come Death, come," he murmured.
As if his plea had been heard, a wave of abject coldness washed over him, causing Harry to shudder, though he did not cower nor wince as the cloaked figure entered the churchyard through the kissing gates.
He followed in the example of Ignotus Peverell, standing proudly to greet Death as a brother.
"Harry Potter."
Harry's mouth was dry and he nodded in acknowledgement.
"It is Fate that brings you here this night with both her blessing and curse upon you."
Harry snorted derisively.
"Fate has always been a curse on me, it seems."
The figure merely stared at him for a moment.
"And will continue to be so," it replied in a raspy tone. "Tonight is not the night I claim your soul but relieve you of a burden. Your journey does not end here. No, on the contrary, Death is but another beginning."
"I'm not dead?" Harry asked confusedly.
"As we speak, you are dead, but your soul is yet to be claimed. To be admitted into the next life, the penalty is your soul, but I am willing to make a deal with you as I did those that came before you."
"A deal?" Harry questioned sceptically.
"You will recognise me, acknowledge me as the one that blesses you, and I in turn will grant you passage back from whence you came."
"What is the price?"
"Your servitude and loyalty. You have witnessed my power, and you will need it to fight what is coming. Your enemies are many and without me, you cannot win. If you lose, we both suffer."
Harry shook his head.
"You saw what happened to me," he pointed out. "How can I beat Voldemort if I can't beat his followers."
"You grow, Harry Potter. You become what you are destined to be. You have a power that he knows not, a power granted to you by me. Remember these words, they will come to you soon enough. Only you can defeat him as only he can defeat you."
They were ominous and made little sense to Harry.
"Do you accept the deal?"
Harry was not under the impression he was truly being given a choice, but the figure was right.
Death was the power that Harry had been shown through the visions, and had he remembered to take his cloak, perhaps he would not be here now.
Besides, he wanted Lucius Malfoy's head for what the man had orchestrated against him, and he would not turn down such an opportunity.
He accepted death for what it was, but he was not ready for it yet, not when there were so many wrongs he needed to right.
He nodded his agreement and the figure closed the distance between.
The cold Harry experienced as the hand closed over his scar was agonising, and though it lasted only a brief second, it was an experience he would never forget.
He was pulled from his thoughts by a squealing sound, as he looked up, Harry recoiled at the sight of the infant-like creature the figure clutched.
"You are unburdened of the soul piece of your enemy that has plagued you. There are others you must find. Your journey will be long and arduous but have faith in me and you can succeed. Rise, Harry Potter, and grow to be the man Fate decreed you would the night your ancestors summoned me."
Before Harry could say anything, he felt himself being propelled through a void and he sat up as he took a breath.
He was cold, not uncomfortably so but the magic he felt within the cloak and that had been bestowed upon him almost a year ago was more prevalent.
It was then he realised that he was back in the woods only now there were no masked figures, but Hermione and Cedric Diggory were there, bathed in a green light that illuminated their shocked expressions.
The Weasleys arrived only a moment later.
"How?" Hermione choked, finally gathering herself enough to ask.
It was the sound of several loud cracks filling the air that cut Harry off from speaking.
"STUPEFY!"
Harry immediately seized Hermione and pulled her to the ground, covering her with his body.
"WAIT, STOP! That's my boy!"
It was the voice of Amos Diggory and Harry looked up to see that several men and women in red robes had arrived with several others, some he recognised.
"It was the Death Eaters, Dad! They were here and…"
"They ran when that thing appeared in the sky," Harry interjected sharply.
Cedric looked at him worriedly but chose to respect Harry's wish of remaining silent on what had happened.
"Death Eaters? What utter nonsense!" a voice denied firmly.
"Oh, so who was it then, Fudge, the magic fairies? We all know what we saw in that campsite. Take a look above, you idiot. What do you see?"
"The Dark Mark," the man known as Fudge answered. "The Death Eaters disbanded more than a decade ago, Moody. This is just someone playing a terrible joke."
"I don't think this is much of a joke, do you?"
Fudge said nothing as he glared at Harry who returned the expression.
Even if he were to explain what had occurred, Harry did not expect there would be any help from Fudge.
Lucius had the man very much in his pocket.
"There's one over here! Bloody hell, he got it bad."
"Remove the mask, Dawlish!" Amelia Bones instructed as she approached. "That's Walden Macnair!"
"Not anymore it isn't," Dawlish replied. "Merlin, what a mess."
"Potter, are you responsible for this?" Fudge demanded.
Before Harry could speak, the man who had been identified as Moody intervened.
"If he is, he was well within his rights to defend himself. The law permitting lethal use against them was never repealed, Fudge. Besides, do you think anyone is going to side with prats in masks against Harry Potter with what happened in '81?"
"Poppycock!" Fudge denied. "He has killed…"
"They tried to kill him!" Cedric said heatedly. "There were five others and they cast the Killing Curse at him. We saw it, and I will swear it in front of the Ministry."
"Ludicrous!" Fudge snorted.
"There was!" Ron returned heatedly.
Fudge shook his head.
"Whatever happened here was a tragedy but the Death Eaters have not returned and I will hear nothing else on the…"
Fudge suddenly stopped talking as an icy chill swept through the trees.
"What was that?" Bones asked warily.
"Death," Harry whispered to himself.
The figure was here to claim the soul of Walden Macnair, and Harry did not feel a shred of guilt for what he had done to the man.
He had witnessed death throughout his life, through his own eyes, and through those of his Peverell ancestors.
To him, now more than ever, death was an ever-present entity, as much a part of him as the blood and magic that flowed through him.
Tonight, he had escaped the clutches of the reaver because he'd been offered a favourable deal, and Harry would be a man of his word.
As it had with the Peverells, the cloaked figure had given him a reprieve in his hour of need, and for that, he would forever be grateful.
Harry was under no illusion that one day he would meet the figure again, and when he did, it would be as Ignotus, Gawain, and Arthur had, on his feet and ready for what waited on the other side.
Before that day came, however, he would be sending others, and just below Voldemort at the top of the list was Lucius Malfoy, along with those who had assisted him this evening.
Harry would not forget their voices and would make them regret their actions from the moment that had chosen to follow the Dark Lord.
"Come Death, come," he whispered.
"Bones! I want a comprehensive report of what happened here on my desk by the morning!" Fudge instructed. "No one is to discuss the matter with the media, and for Merlin's sake, will someone remove that abomination?" he finished, pointing towards the Dark Mark.
He stormed away from the woods with his entourage in tow.
"Potter, I need a statement of what happened here," Bones instructed. "You too, Cedric and you, young lady."
She left to make arrangements to clear away the body of Walden Macnair and Harry finally stood, appreciating the smell of the fresh air.
"Harry?" Hermione questioned.
He shook his head.
"Say nothing," he murmured. "You too, Cedric. Not a damned word about what you think you saw."
"Come, Potter," Amelia Bones called.
Harry nodded and made his way towards the woman.
"I'll tell my dad where you are," Ron called after him.
It had already been a long night, and it would only get longer.
If Fudge had gotten his way, Harry had no doubt he would be on his way to Azkaban, perhaps.
In his current mood, he could not promise he would have gone quietly.
He had the oddly scarred Moody to thank for his intervention that saw him remain free, though Harry had no doubt that Fudge would again find a way to turn this to his advantage despite it being rather clear what transpired.
(Break)
"He got Walden, Lucius! That wasn't part of the plan," Selwyn hissed angrily. "It won't take much for them to track it back to us!"
Lucius would not allow Selwyn to ruin his feeling of jubilation.
He had succeeded where the Dark Lord had failed and killed Harry Potter.
Though he could not proclaim to have done so, he would revel in the elation in the days, weeks, and perhaps months to come.
"It will not be linked to us," he denied. "We were here all evening after the match finished."
Selwyn nodded his understanding.
"I still can't believe he killed Walden. What was the spell he used?"
"I do not know," Lucius replied with a frown. "Not that it matters. Harry Potter is dead!"
The others cheered uproariously, and Lucius scowled as his wife entered the room.
"What is it?" he snapped.
"The Minster wishes to speak with you, Lucius. He says that it is a most important matter."
Lucius grunted and dismissed the woman with a wave of his hand whilst the others watched him nervously.
"I will deal with Cornelius," he assured them.
They murmured amongst themselves as Lucius left his private drawing room and made his way towards the one he'd reserved for his meetings with the Minister.
It was away from anything that could catch the man's eye and cause him to look upon Lucius in an unfavourable manner.
With a wave of his wand, the robes he had worn were transfigured into a pair of silk pyjamas complete with a matching robe and Lucius feigned a look of curiosity as he entered the room.
Fudge was pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace looking distinctly uneasy.
"Lucius," he said, his voice flooding with relief.
"What brings you here at this hour, Minister?"
Fudge shook his head and took a moment to decide where to begin.
"Have you heard nothing of what happened at the final?"
Lucius frowned as he shook his head.
"I left shortly after the match finished," he explained. "What has you so flustered?"
Fudge swallowed nervously.
"Death Eaters," he whispered. "They attacked the campsite and some of them ambushed Harry Potter. The Dark Mark was sent up in the sky above."
Lucius had seen the mark.
Those who had been with him denied casting it, but someone nearby had undoubtedly done so.
"Oh dear," he whispered worriedly as he took a seat and gestured for the Minister to do so, revelling in the impending moment that he would hear of Potter's demise. "Potter…"
"Is alive."
Lucius choked in disbelief.
No, Potter could not be alive.
He had been hit by all five of the curses, and Lucius had seen his lifeless corpse for himself before the mark had sent them scattering.
"Excuse me?"
"There were two witnesses who saw what happened. From what little I know, the Death Eaters cast the Killing Curse at him and missed, but there is more. Potter killed Walden Macnair who was amongst them."
Lucius could not believe what he was hearing.
They had not missed, which meant that Potter had somehow survived.
How?
How had the boy lived when all others would have died.
Even the Dark Lord…
"Lucius?"
He cleared his throat.
"My apologies, Minister, I am just shocked by the news of Walden. I would never have thought he would be a part of anything like that."
"Nor I, Lucius," Fudge sighed. "I am doing all I can to silence what happened, but it is inevitable that the media will manage to report something. There were too many witnesses to some of the events to cover them entirely, but I am hopeful I can preserve Walden's legacy. I say we leave it a few weeks and announce his death as a natural occurrence."
Lucius nodded his agreement, numb by what he had learned, and weary too.
Potter…
"Potter is well?"
Fudge nodded.
"He is. Between you and me, he got very lucky. Were it not for so many witnesses, I would have had him arrested."
"No, that would not do," Lucius returned. "Arresting him would only garner further support for him. He is a much-loved figure merely for what happened the night the Dark Lord fell. Best to not draw attention to what happened."
It was certainly not what Lucius wanted.
If Potter was arrested, a full investigation would be launched and that would be beyond Lucius's control.
Bones would love nothing more than an excuse to look in his direction and not even Fudge could prevent that if his name was even whispered with regards to an attempted murder.
No, it was best left as it was.
He had been beneath his mask, but he would not put it past Bones to find a way to have him submit to Veritaserum.
Not even Lucius was so sure that he would avoid such a fate more than once in a lifetime.
Still, the news of Potters survival was most unsettling, and as Lucius assured the Minister that all would be well, he wondered what it would take to be rid of the boy.
Lucius did not know, and if truth be told, he could not ignore the concern he felt.
If Potter had even an inkling of his involvement, Draco could be in danger when he returned to school, or worse yet, Potter could simply bide his time and make Lucius's life distinctly less pleasant in the years to come.
Both were not favourable outcomes, but Lucius knew he needed to be careful.
For Potter to survive such a perfectly planned attack, there was something very different about him.
Not only had he survived the killing curse once as a babe, which could very much be considered a fluke, but he had done so again five times over.
That could not be a coincidence, and as Lucius realised it, he felt a lump of dread fill his stomach.
No, something was very wrong with Potter.
"You look as though you have seen a ghost," Nott commented as he entered his private study once more.
"You could say that, Nott," Lucius whispered. "Potter is not dead."
Silence.
The others looked towards him questioningly, and yet, Lucius had no answers.
(Break)
It was mid-morning by the time the group of Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione arrived back at the Burrow, greeted by a frantic Mrs Weasley who hurried from the back door at their approach.
"Thank goodness you're all okay," she choked as she reached them, hugging each of them in turn. "It's been all over the wireless and even the paper was late so they could report it. What happened, Arthur?"
Mr Weasley shook his head tiredly.
"Let's get everyone inside," he murmured. "Come, Harry. I think a strong cup of tea will do you the world of good."
Harry didn't need tea; he needed a healer.
Hermione had respected his wish not to divulge all of what she had seen, but she could not rid herself of the image of his lifeless body on the ground, his empty eyes staring into her very soul.
He could say whatever he wanted on the matter.
Hermione knew what she had seen, even if she could not hope to comprehend it.
She followed the others into the kitchen and watched as Harry immediately picked up the morning edition of The Daily Prophet.
Scanning the cover, he nodded, seemingly content with the report that had been made.
Evidently, only Cedric and Hermione had seen what had truly transpired.
"Thank you, Mrs Weasley."
Harry said nothing else as he sipped his tea, and excused himself shortly after he'd finished, gesturing that he wished to be alone.
Mr Weasley shook his head sorrowfully.
"Poor boy," he sighed.
"Poor boy?" Mrs Weasley asked worriedly, her gaze shifting towards the ceiling.
Mr Weasley nodded.
"He was ambushed in the woods," he explained. "Some of the Death Eaters attempted to kill him."
Mrs Weasley covered her mouth with her hand in shock.
"That's not the half of it," Mr Weasley murmured. "Harry killed one of them."
"He did what?"
"Walden Macnair. Fudge is trying to cover it up, but the truth will come out eventually. It always does."
Mrs Weasley was lost for words for several moments.
"How?"
Mr Weasley shrugged.
"He tore Macnair's chest wide open. I don't know how he did it, but it was a bloody mess."
"The bastard deserved it!" One of the twins declared. "Fancy trying to murder our Harry."
Charlie and the other twin nodded their agreement.
Ron was oddly quiet on the matter, much paler than usual and Ginny had not uttered a word since the group had been reunited.
"I can't fault the boy," Mr Weasley murmured. "He did what was necessary."
"But he now has to live with that on his conscience," Mrs Weasley pointed out.
"Conscience, my arse," Charlie snorted. "Macnair got what was coming. I'd see the lot of them dead over Harry."
Again, the twins nodded their agreement and no other spoke as Harry entered the kitchen.
"I'll be going now," he announced. "Thank you for letting me stay, Mr and Mrs Weasley."
"Are you sure, Harry, dear?" the woman asked.
Harry nodded.
"I have lots of things to get done before we go back to school."
"I'll walk with you," Hermione decided as she stood.
For a moment, she thought Harry would deny the request, but he didn't and she waited for him to bid his farewells.
When he had done so, the two of them took their leave of the kitchen, and Hermione simply watched her friend as they made their way towards the orchard.
Harry was tired, but his eyes were hollow as he remained trapped within his own thoughts.
"Harry…"
He shook his head.
"I will be fine, Hermione," he assured her. "It's not the first time someone has tried to kill me. I just need some space to come to terms with it, that's all."
"But, how are you here?"
He smiled and a little of the warmth returned to his eyes.
"Because it's not my time," he answered cryptically. "Just, keep it to yourself. I do not need the added fame. I'll see you soon," he promised, pulling her into a tight hug before activating his portkey.
Harry had never hugged her before, nor seemingly been so comfortable.
How that was possible, Hermione did not know, but whatever it was he had experienced had seemed to instil some changes within him already.
For several moments, Hermione simply remained where she was, mulling over the events of the previous night and being grateful that Harry was still here.
She didn't know how and likely never would, but in truth, it didn't matter.
Once again, Harry had survived the impossible.
What did worry Hermione, however, was what he would do now.
He was too calm for her liking, and what he felt would have to be released eventually.
(Break)
"Wasn't Harry at the match?" Sirius asked worriedly as Remus pointed to the front page of The Daily Prophet.
The werewolf nodded before a tapping sounded at the window.
"That's his owl!"
Sirius rushed to admit the bird and relieved it of the note, tearing it open.
Sirius,
I'm fine but just need some time to deal with a few things.
The paper doesn't tell the full story, but I will when I see you hopefully soon.
Sorry,
Harry
Sirius nodded to himself as he handed the note to Remus.
"Are you okay?"
Sirius did not know what to say.
He had been looking forward to nothing more than Harry arriving, and now, that didn't seem likely to happen.
Of course, he understood.
Whatever had occurred at the final must have been harrowing for his godson to witness, he just wished that he was in a position that Harry would come to him when he needed someone.
"I'm fine," Sirius said dismissively. "He will come when he is ready."
"He will," Remus assured him. "What do you think he means by what is here not being the full story?"
Sirius frowned at the question.
Why would the Death Eaters suddenly emerge after so long?
It couldn't be merely coincidence that Harry had been there when they chose to reappear.
No, something wasn't right.
"They were after him," he deduced. "I'll kill every one of the bastards!"
"You will stay where you are," Remus said firmly. "If anyone knows anything about this, it will be Dumbledore. I'll speak with him and find out what happened. Do not leave the house, Sirius."
Remus left and Sirius paced around the kitchen as he tried to calm himself.
Perhaps he was wrong.
Was he jumping to conclusions?
He would need to wait to hear what Remus could discover, but he had a very unsettling feeling about the entire thing.
The Death Eaters would not take such a risk for no reason, and there was none bigger than to take revenge for their fallen master against the one responsible.
Sirius quietly seethed at the very thought of any of them daring to harm Harry.
If what he thought proved to be true, there was not a thing that would stop him ensuring such a thing never happened to his godson again.
He would find every last one of them and show them that the apple never fell far from the tree.
Sirius was a Black by blood, and in him was the same ruthlessness that every other that came before him had possessed.
He may have distanced himself from it as a boy, but more than a decade in Azkaban and the murder of those you loved changed a man.
The Death Eaters would see these changes if they had attempted to harm Harry and damned the consequences.
(Break)
"Ah, Alastor, might I assume that you have considered my proposition?"
The grizzled former auror nodded as he took his seat.
He may be retired, but that had not prevented him taking his wand in hand when the Dark Lord's followers had appeared at the match the previous evening.
It was what had occurred that had made his mind up.
Alastor was on the verge of declining Albus's request of him, but now he was compelled to accept the position.
"You heard?"
Albus's expression fell as he nodded.
"A most unfortunate incident."
Moody grunted.
"Did you hear about Potter?"
Albus frowned, indicating that he had not yet been informed.
"Harry?"
Alastor nodded.
"Half a dozen of them tried to ambush him."
"Is he okay?" Albus asked urgently as he stood.
"Somehow, he is," Alastor murmured, "but Walden Macnair is not."
How Potter had escaped such a trap unscathed was quite the mystery.
Both the Granger girl and Diggory boy had attested to the fact that five Killing Curses were hurled towards Potter, and yet, he had evidently managed to avoid them.
Quite the feat that Alastor doubted most could never succeed in achieving.
"Macnair?"
"Potter tore the man's chest away from the rest of his body," Alastor revealed. "I admit, I am impressed. The boy did well in defending himself."
Albus released a deep sigh.
"He does that," he said sadly. "Harry is…"
"In shock, I expect," Alastor broke in. "Not many can say they survived what he did. As you'd expect, Fudge tried to make a bloody production of the whole thing until he realised it would draw the attention of the media. I suppose it helped that I pointed a few things out."
"So, Harry wasn't arrested?"
Alastor shook his head.
"The boy should be given a medal for what he did. Macnair was a scumbag who deserved the worst death imaginable."
"Do you know where he is now?"
"Potter left with the Weasleys after Bones finished with him."
"Very well," Albus sighed. "I will visit when it is pertinent to do so. I expect some time to digest what is happened will be needed."
"Aye," Alastor agreed. "About the job…"
"Are you going to accept?"
Alastor nodded.
"Aye, I'll do it," he agreed, "but only for a year. I'm an old man now, Albus."
"Younger than me."
"Just about everyone is younger than you," Alastor snorted as he stood. "Potter, what is he like as a student?"
"Very promising."
Alastor grunted.
"Good. By the time I'm done with the lad this year, he'll be able to handle the bastards if they come for him again."
With that, Alastor left the office and past Remus Lupin on the way out, his thoughts wondering to the events of the previous night.
Bones was adamant the teens were not telling her everything, and Alastor knew not to doubt the woman's instincts.
What else had happened, he couldn't say for certain, but if the death of Walden Macnair was anything to go by, it was unlikely to have been a good thing.
(Break)
Harry stood beneath his cloak as he looked upon the home he had spent the first year and handful of months of his life in. No amount of Occlumency could rid him of the cold fury permeating every fibre of his being, but his near-death experience had somewhat given him a new lease on life.
He had thought he had years to do all of things he had promised himself, and yet, only last night he had been proven that his time could come at any given moment.
There was no promise of tomorrow, and even though he did not wish to consider that his life could well be cut short sooner than he'd like, he knew there was a distinct possibility that very fate awaited him.
Fate.
Had it been Fate that had brought Voldemort here some twelve years prior?
No, it had not been the work of Fate. Voldemort had come here of his own volition, but Fate certainly had a hand in it somewhere.
Indeed, Fate had been a curse upon him, whereas Death had brought him blessing upon blessing through the visions in which he had learned so much.
The Peverells had shaped him into what he was growing to be, and with no one else, they would continue to do so through the Potters he would undoubtedly bear witness to the lives of.
For now, however, Harry merely wished to escape it all.
He had promised that he would return here when the time was right, and here he was.
Pushing the gate open, he approached the house, no longer afraid of the ghosts he may find inside.
Having experienced what he had; he knew there was nothing to fear.
One day, Voldemort would come for him, or even his followers again if given another chance.
Before that, there were things that Harry wished to be done, and when they were achieved, he would embrace Death harbouring no regrets.
The front door of the humble home opened at his touch, and it was clear to see that this was where James Potter had made his last stand against the man that had come for his family.
There were scorch marks marring the walls, and broken furniture that had been destroyed during the ensuing chaos.
Harry could almost play the entire scene out in his mind from the debris that remained.
Picking up a discarded photo, he swallowed deeply at the sight of his mother and father.
They were both dressed in their Hogwarts robes, laughing as they looked so lovingly at one another.
This had been before Harry was born and he could see how happy James and Lily Potter were.
Keeping a firm hold of it, he wandered around the lower level of the house, surprised at how normal everything seemed to be.
The plates of the Potter's final meal were still on the draining board, and even Harry's highchair had remained untouched.
He ran his fingertips across it, disturbing more than a decade's worth of dust.
It was sobering, to say the least, to consider that life here had simply come to an end.
With a shake of his head, Harry drew his wand and cleaned the dust before shifting his attention to everything else that had been broken.
He did not know how long it took, but when he was done, no one would ever guess that this had been the scene of a violent struggle.
Some of the furniture was unrepairable, so Harry left it where it was, unable to bring himself to dispose of it, though that left only one more thing for him to confront.
Releasing a deep breath, he looked up the staircase towards the landing above, bracing himself for what was to come.
Tentatively, he began his ascent, and when he reached the top, he found himself confronted with three doors with one of them left hanging off a single hinge.
Knowing what that was, he ignored it and approached another.
The middle one was a bathroom where Harry found a variety of toys he likely played with, probably with his mother and father as they washed him.
He did not spend much time in there, choosing to enter the room next door that had belonged to his parents.
The bed was still made and nothing else had been disturbed.
Feeling a lump form in his throat, Harry closed the door.
He would come back to that room when he was ready.
Oddly enough, he felt less trepidation as he made his way to the final door, though that changed as he peered inside.
The ceiling had collapsed in, but through the splintered pieces of wood and crumbled plaster, he could see his cot.
It was not the cot he focused on, however.
No, in the middle of the blue carpet was a large scorch mark and even torn pieces of black robes were Voldemort's body had been destroyed.
Next to it was a stuffed animal of a stag that Lily Potter had evidently been holding when she died and attached to it was a few red hairs.
Harry carefully retrieved it and doing so elicited a response he had not been prepared for.
He held it close to his chest as his bottled-up emotions were unleashed.
The anger he had held onto at what had happened to his parents, and everything else that followed since that he had hidden from the world escaped him.
He hadn't intended to cry, but he did so shamelessly; for his parents and even for himself.
Throughout his short years of living, life had been cruel to Harry, and he'd endured enough of it now.
The figure had bid him to rise and become the man he needed to be, and that was exactly what Harry would do.
He would not be a mere pawn of the mistress that was Fate. No, Harry was blessed by Death, and if that was what he needed to exact upon his enemies so that he may live, then so be it.
Death had proven to be his only ally, and it was Death he would look to when he needed it.
"Come Death, come," he whispered as he clung to the stag, likely in the same manner he had when he had been but a babe in his mother's arms.