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Shadow of the Serpent | ||||||
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Category: Post-OotP Characters:Harry/Ginny Genres: Action/Adventure Warnings: Death, Extreme Language, Violence Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 537 Summary: **June Dumbledore Silver Trinket Award Winner for Best Angst, and May winner for Best Author** Harry is whisked away to an ancient island to be trained in Occlumency. What he finds is another complication to add to his already complicated life. Will friendship, love, loyalty, bravery, and honor be enough to save him from the Shadow of the Serpent that haunts his life? H/G angst/action adventure. Hitcount: Story Total: 152130; Chapter Total: 6789 Awards: View Trophy Room |
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Disclaimer: The characters and situations of Harry Potter depicted in this story are the legal property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made off this story. It is for entertainment purposes only. “Revisiting the Past” Stephen had not been to Mariah and Adam’s grave since the day they were put in the ground, and he barely recalled anything about the funeral. He had been in shock, still reeling from his recent incarceration in Voldemort’s custody, grieving… the guilt of failing them pushing on him so that he could think of nothing else. His whole world — and part of his sanity — had come crashing down around his ankles and he couldn’t bare it. So he had left. But no matter where he had gone, where he had tried to run off to, the guilt always followed. He couldn’t deny the fact that he had not been there when they needed him most. He wasn’t sure what was calling him to revisit the past, but with Harry back he had begun to think about his wife and son even more than before and suddenly he had an overwhelming need to come here — to make peace with the past. He knew Mariah would be furious that he had put it off this long. She never had any expectations of him and would have thought his brooding silly; she was a very capable and independent witch who understood the nuances of his job and accepted that he couldn’t always be there for her. Truthfully, that was what had first attracted him. Most women had a difficult time reconciling the fact that an Auror’s life wasn’t their own. The case always came first. But Mariah had been a healer, and she knew all about the pressures of the job. She was as wrapped up in her work as Stephen. Their relationship shouldn’t have worked, but it did. Somehow they managed to build a life together, and then one day they had Adam and everything changed. They were suddenly more focused on each other and home, worrying less about the job and more about what they were missing in their son’s life. Mariah gave up her job at St. Mungo’s and Stephen cut back on his hours by resigning his position as a trainer of new recruits. They had saved a good bit of money and Mariah’s parents had left her a fair share tucked away in a vault in Gringotts so, luckily, they could afford it. Life became somewhat of a comfortable routine. Then Stephen’s job had begun to heat up with Voldemort’s increased activity. Stephen had been instrumental in foiling Voldemort’s plans on numerous occasions, planning out and leading several high profile operations and landing himself on the front pages of the Daily Prophet almost weekly. Then he was captured. Dumbledore, with help from James Potter and Sirius Black, had gotten him back but by the time they returned, Mariah and Adam were gone — just two more casualties in the wake of a mad man. Stephen Apparated outside the wizard portion of the cemetery in Manchester. The final resting place of the Wizarding community was located in the middle of the famous Muggle cemetery in that area, but it was hidden from view by enchantments so that only magical people could find it. There was good reason for this. As with anything else, even in death witches and wizards couldn’t refrain from showing off. Those with money and the inclination usually spared no expense to make their last resting place something to be proud of or gawked at, depending on one’s point of view. Gravesites always had some sort of charms or enchantments placed on them, but several were definitely more elaborate than others. Looking around for Muggles and finding none, Stephen passed through the large stone doors of the mausoleum which served as the entrance to the Wizard graveyard in much the same way as the platform at King’s Cross station. Outside the sky had been grey and ominous looking, but inside the sun shone brightly. It was a perfect summer day. The grass underfoot was neat and tidy, a spectacular shade of green, and there was just the hint of a breeze in the air. The space had been magically expended, and Stephen found himself slightly disoriented. It seemed much bigger now than it had over fifteen years ago. More rows of gravesites now dotted the perfectly landscaped area and he found himself at a loss for where to start. He hadn’t counted on not remembering where his own wife and son were buried. Somehow in his mind he had always pictured himself walking right up to their headstones, kneeling down, and… well, he had never actually gotten further than that. He wasn’t sure what would come next. “Need some help, laddy?” a voice said from behind, making him jump. The older man laughed as Stephen whipped around, wand in hand. “You’ll want to put that away,” the man said conversationally. “One curse inside these walls and you’ll wish you were dead. This graveyard is protected by anti-curse and anti-hex enchantments. Even the dead have enemies, you understand, and us living people don’t take kindly to being cursed either. Graveyards are no place to settle our differences, wouldn’t you agree?” Stephen relaxed and put his wand away. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Old habit.” “Quite all right,” the man replied easily. He had a relaxed demeanour that made Stephen like him instantly. “These days we can’t be too careful,” he added grimly. “Right,” Stephen replied, letting his eyes roam again, searching for the thing he had come to see. “My name’s Willard… Samuel Willard,” the old man said in a congenial tone. “I’m the caretaker here. Is there something I can help you with, sir?” “No,” Stephen answered automatically then paused. He knew that name. Samuel Willard was the person he sent the money to periodically to pay for the upkeep of Mariah and Adam’s graves. “..Yes,” he amended, sighing in frustration. He waved his hand in a broad sweeping motion indicating his surroundings. “It’s changed so much... I’m looking for my wife and son’s plot, Mariah and Adam Hunter.” “Ah, yes… I thought I recognized you Mr. Hunter,” Mr. Willard said, his voice still pleasant, helping to calm Stephen’s frayed nerves. “I wondered when you’d turn up.” “Indeed,” he commented dryly. Willard smiled benignly. “One does not usually see such care being taken to ensure that a final resting place is maintained properly without one day meeting the person responsible,” he explained. “I have received all of your letters with the instructions and payment, Mr. Hunter, and have renewed the enchantments periodically, just as you have requested. Of course, Albus Dumbledore has also added a bit of his own from time to time when he visits. I hope that you don’t mind, but it is his right as a blood relative.” “Dumbledore comes here?” Stephen asked, surprised. He wasn’t sure why that shocked him; the Headmaster had implied that he had been here to visit when he had encouraged Stephen to come back in September. “Oh, yes,” Mr. Willard answered. “There are many people that Albus comes to see. One does not live to be as old as Dumbledore without outliving most of his closest friends and family. He visits his great-granddaughter and great-great-grandson at least once a year, if not more. Shall I take you to them?” Stephen nodded his head silently, stepping aside for the older man and then following him, trying to calm his nerves. Mr. Willard took several twists and turns — past the crypt with the dancing cherubs and singing mermaids screeching an ear-shattering tune; around the large gravestone with the flapping wings; and over the marker with the cement bridge — to a quiet area with a beautiful sprawling tree with a simple wooden and rope swing hanging from one of its branches. Here the wind seemed to rustle and there was a nice breeze blowing the leaves a bit, making the place seem alive and full of life. Two headstones lay beneath the tree and around them were beautiful coloured flowers — red tulips, purple irises, yellow daffodils, and wildflowers of every colour. It looked just like their back garden in the height of summer. “Is it to your liking?” Mr. Willard asked with a sideways look. “It is very beautiful,” Stephen commented around a lump that had formed in his throat. “It is one of the more beautiful spots in the mausoleum, I think,” Mr. Willard agreed. “I rather enjoy coming here — it is extremely peaceful and serene, is it not? But of course, that is due, in part, to the charms placed on the area.” “I wanted them to be in a familiar place,” Stephen whispered, “where nothing bad could touch them. They’d been through enough already.” “Aye,” Willard agreed. “That they have. Such a shame when they die young… such wasted potential.” He sighed audibly. “I’ll give you some time with them, then.” “Thank you,” Stephen murmured quietly, and he meant it. This man had watched over his family for him when he could not, and he had done an excellent job of it, too, from the looks of it. Stephen was grateful there were people like Samuel Willard in this world. He sat down gingerly on the replica of the wooden swing he had put up for Mariah. She had once confessed that the thing she missed most about her childhood home was the tree in the back garden where her father had made a swing similar to this one. Mariah’s father had been Muggleborn so he had created it the old fashioned way — using his own two hands. Mariah used to say that he always felt that using magic was almost like cheating when it came to things like that; some tasks were meant to be a labour of love. Mariah’s parents had been killed by some of the first Death Eaters and she had been raised by her Godparents from the age of seven. To protect her identity and maintain her safety Albus had changed her name and kept his distance until she was old enough to attend Hogwarts. As a young child she had always been quite fond of her Granddad, as he was of her, so it was like losing her entire family all in one go. She hadn’t quite understood his reasons for staying away and had been quite angry about it at first. After she started Hogwarts they had tried to rekindle their relationship but the damage had already been done. It had never been what it had used to be. They got on well enough and Mariah respected him, even confided in him at times, but they were a great deal alike. Both had an aloof, reserved attitude towards each other that got in the way of them forming any sort of close bond. Stephen always suspected that Dumbledore did it on purpose; he probably wanted to keep distancing himself for Mariah’s safety. Mariah was too stubborn and independent to admit that it bothered her, but Stephen always suspected that it did. Albus was her closest living blood relative, the greatest wizard alive, and he kept her at arms length. Yes… it bothered her all right. Quite a lot, actually. He looked to the right of him at the simple headstone that bore her name and the date of her birth and death, swallowing hard. “I’m here, finally,” he murmured, feeling slightly silly to be talking to a headstone. “Your Granddad said it would help to come, so I decided to listen to him this once.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “I miss you, Mariah. Merlin, how I miss you!” He chuckled humourlessly. “There are days I swear I can feel you there beside me, but most of the time it’s like I’m walking in an empty void. It took me a long time to get my life back on track but in the last few years I’ve managed to find a purpose for living.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully, lost in the past. “I met someone. No, not another woman… it’s a kid. James Potter’s kid. You remember him, right? He’s close to Adam’s age, about a year younger.” Stephen paused, gathering his thoughts. “Harry reminds me a lot of myself, actually. I think you would have really liked him. He’s had a rough life since his parents died and Albus brought him to me to help straighten him out.” He laughed in earnest this time. “I know, I know… I can hear you now, even from all the way on the other side. I realise I needed straightening out myself after everything that happened, but the funny thing is that I think Harry helped me almost as much as I helped him. We needed each other, he and I, and we have a common destiny.” He stepped off the swing and knelt down in front of Mariah’s grave. “I swear to you, my love… I will have my revenge on the one who did this to you and our son. The first chance I get I’m going to make him pay for everything he’s done… all the lives he’s ruined. I’ve learned that the universe has an odd way of balancing itself out. One day that monster is going to get what’s coming to him. I swear it.” “Revenge is a bit extreme, don’t you think, dear?” a hauntingly familiar voice said from nearby. “As an Auror, wouldn’t you rather see justice done?” Stephen turned to the voice, his heart breaking. He knew this was coming — they had planned it — but it still came as a shock. The image of his wife wearing a soft, white dress was now sitting on the swing he had vacated, her long brown hair hanging loosely in curls. She was only an image, a shadow of the real thing, but it was the closest he had come to her in over sixteen years and she was just as beautiful as the day he had married her. “Justice is too kind,” Stephen answered his dead wife in an equally dead voice. She tilted her head and gave him a shrewd look, so typically Mariah that his stomach twisted in a hard knot. He longed to take her in his arms, to hold her and kiss her one last time, but this was not his wife… only the essence of her, much like the personality left in a painting. Mariah had insisted on this particular charm soon after they had Adam because she did not want him to grow up with no memory of his parents. She had lost her own at a young age and she had always longed for a place like this to come where she could feel close to them and talk to them. Times being what they were, they had made provisions to ensure that Adam would know them in case the worst happened. Stephen had been in no condition to change the plans at the time of her death and, truthfully, a part of him was comforted by the knowledge that he could come here one day when he was ready and talk to her once again. “You are a just man Stephen Hunter, not a revengeful one,” she said reproachfully in response to his bitter comment. “The man I love is intelligent enough to see the difference.” “I never could win a row with you, love,” he said shaking his head in defeat. “You always knew just what to say to destroy my counterargument.” “Why do you think I married you?” she laughed merrily causing him to chuckle unexpectedly. In time his face sobered once again and she became serious as well. “Why are you looking for something you can never attain, Stephen?” she asked. “Revenge is only for the living. I agree that the people who did this need to be stopped. But, once you open the door to hatred, it is a passageway to losing your own soul. Grieve for me, seek justice for my death, but do not go looking for revenge. I do not wish for my death to destroy you.” “That is exactly why I stayed away for so long,” he admitted. “I knew that’s what you would say, and I wasn’t ready to hear it.” “Well,” she huffed in that childish way of hers that drove him mad with want, “that is a bit dim of you, isn’t it?” “One minute you tell me I’m intelligent, the next you say I’m dim,” he muttered under his breath. “…I see we got the charms right.” “Come again, love?” she said playfully. “I didn’t quite hear what you said.” “I asked you how exactly I’m being dim,” he lied sweetly. “That’s what I thought,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “All I meant was that, if you knew what I would say anyway, why would coming here make any difference?” He sighed heavily. “Because then I’d have to accept that you were really gone.” “There it is,” she chuckled. “Now we get a bit closer to the truth. Stephen, darling, I want you to understand something. Life is all about change, and adapting to that change. After I lost my parents I had to learn to live on without them. Thankfully I had two wonderful people in my life to help me through it. But you’re an adult, Stephen. You have to act like one now. I can’t stand the thought of you blaming yourself because I died and you didn’t. You have to be strong and go on without me, love. I know it won’t be easy, but that truly is what I want.” “You don’t understand,” he said sullenly. “I have gone on, but the pain is still there. It’s as if it happened yesterday instead of sixteen years ago… it never leaves me. When you died, it felt as if half of me died with you.” The tears were leaking down his face now and he brushed them away angrily, sitting back in the grass to stare at her image with a heavy heart. “I do understand, Stephen,” she said sympathetically. Although Stephen knew that the image couldn’t really feel true emotions he could see the conflict on her face. Mariah must have thought about this scenario before she had died to conjure up an image that was so life-like, so realistic. Without a doubt, she had known him better than anyone on the planet. “If you had died and I was left,” the image continued, “I imagine that I might feel the same way. I mourn for what you have gone through, darling.” Then her face hardened. “But that’s no excuse, Stephen Hunter. You are too strong for this nonsense. I will not have you wasting your life away on my account, seeking revenge at the cost of your soul. I need to know that you are all right — that you can live on and not feel guilty about it so that one day we might be together again. All I want is your happiness, darling. Promise me that you’ll try.” “I am trying,” he said, hanging his head. “Everyday I force myself to wake up and face a new day without you and our son in it. But I promise that I’ll try harder, love, for you. I think it’s helped to come here… to see you, finally, after all these years. Albus was right.” She smiled. “I’m glad that you are taking Granddad’s advice for a change. I know that the two of you have had your differences in the past…” “Only where you were concerned,” Stephen amended hastily. “Yes…” she agreed, “especially where I was concerned. But Granddad is a good man. He always respected your integrity, Stephen. He’s told me on many occasions that he thinks very highly of you.” “I always thought Albus was overprotective of you,” Stephen mused thoughtfully. “Then, when something did happen, I spent years blaming him for allowing it to happen.” He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. “I’m an idiot and the world’s biggest git, Mariah. You would have been so ashamed of my behaviour since you left me. I’ve said and done horrible things, and the worst offences have been towards Albus.” “Granddad is not perfect either, Stephen,” Mariah said comfortingly. “He’s made his share of mistakes. But he is a very forgiving man who only wants to see the best in people. Whatever it is you’ve done, I’m sure he’s already forgiven you.” “You’re right, of course,” he said, standing up and brushing the grass from his trousers. “I suppose I’d better get back to Hogwarts and do some grovelling. I have essays to mark and responsibilities to attend to.” “You will come back, won’t you?” she asked him, almost sounding hopeful. “Yes,” he promised. “I will come back as soon as I can. There’s a war going on right now, and I seem to be in the thick of it as usual. But as soon as I get some things sorted out I will come back. That is, unless I am dead, and then I suppose I’ll be seeing you for real, love,” he said offhandedly. “Don’t joke about things like that,” she told him with a frown. “Yes, dear,” he smiled. He was on the edge of the plot now, inches away from ending the projection, but something was holding him back. He looked at the reflection of his wife and then down at his left hand where his wedding band still graced his finger. “You know that I’ll always love you,” he said, meeting her eyes. “I know,” she answered sadly. “It’s alright, Stephen. I want you to let go. We’ll be waiting for you on the other side when it is your time. Until then, don’t forget to live and find happiness where you can.” He nodded and turned to leave, fresh tears filling his eyes. By the time he made it back to the entrance he had composed himself so that his face was an unreadable mask. Mr. Willard was waiting for him at the door, a battered book propped on his lap as he sat in an ancient easy chair and the wireless playing an old classic tune Stephen remembered his own parents listening to on lazy Sunday afternoons. “Did you have a nice visit?” the old man asked. Stephen nodded. “I never realised how much it would help.” He reached out his right hand to shake Mr. Willard’s in parting. “I want to thank you for the excellent job you’ve done here, sir,” he told the caretaker. “I am very grateful that Mariah insisted on the Living Consciousness Charm. It really helped, I think.” The old man looked at him curiously. “I’m glad you found what you were looking for, my boy, but I’m afraid that there is no Living Consciousness Charm on your wife’s grave. It was in the process of being completed when she died, but we never activated it. You see, the charm was meant for your son and, since your son was also killed, there was never a need to put the charm into place.” “Then how…?” The old man’s clear blue eyes cut into his own. “The afterlife has a funny way of making its will known. Usually all it takes is for us to stop running away long enough to listen.” Stephen looked down at his ring finger again sadly. “Perhaps… perhaps you’re right,” he agreed before turning to leave. *** The house looked much the same as it had sixteen years ago when he had last laid eyes on it except that it had fallen into mild disrepair. At the time, Stephen couldn’t bear to part with the small country cottage, so he had refused to liquidate its contents and sell off the property. It was the last place he had been truly happy, and he couldn’t stand the thought of letting it go. Unfortunately, he also could never fathom a time when he would ever want to go there again. So he had just walked away. Someone — Albus perhaps — had placed charms on the area to keep it hidden from prying Muggles and thieves so everything was almost as he had left it. He also suspected that his grandfather-in-law had also assigned a House Elf to periodically clean or make minor repairs on the place. Although it had the distinct look of a home that had been unlived in for quite some time, it also didn’t look like a house that had not been occupied for over sixteen years. Garden gnomes had made themselves quite at home around the house from the looks of it, but Stephen knew it could have been much worse. He made his way slowly up the walk, trying to shake off the odd sense of déjà vu that suddenly accosted his senses. The last time he had come this way he had been half delirious from his capture, practically carried along by James Potter and Sirius Black. The moment they had side-along Apparated him to the front walk they all knew something wasn’t right. Even now, Stephen found it comforting to keep his wand drawn and at the ready, just in case he might need it. Stepping onto the porch, he could feel the slight vibration of the Anti-Apparition wards envelope him; the wards had been in place ever since Stephen and Mariah took possession of the house, but they hadn’t helped her that night. The Death Eaters knocked the door down and stormed the house. His wife and son never had a chance. By the time they arrived back home the job had been done, the Dark Mark was visible, and his wife and son were lying lifeless on the floor. He swallowed hard as he performed the spell to open the door, stepping over the threshold gingerly just in case the charms Albus had put on the house didn’t recognize him. Luckily they did — or at least nothing happened. Someone had fixed the blasted-in door and righted the overturned furniture, but everything else was essentially the same. The davenport Mariah had wanted to replace as soon as Adam was through his toddler stage sat adjacent to the large fireplace. The dining room table and chairs set that he had inherited from his parents was still in the small dining area along with the matching buffet and server laden with dishes collected over the years. Mariah had a weakness for fancy dishes. On weekends she loved to scour Muggle antique shops for pieces to add to her collection. Stephen used to tease her unmercifully about it because they rarely actually used any of her finds; they were both too busy with their careers to entertain much. His wife always claimed that one day her hobby would pay dividends when their son brought home girlfriends from Hogwarts or when, god forbid, he decided to marry. He always laughed outright at that since Adam was barely even walking. He never had Mariah’s ability to think so far into the future. Avoiding the bedrooms for now, he passed through the small kitchen and out the back door into the back garden. This was what he had come to do anyway. The garden gnomes were even worse out here, forcing him to fling a few in his path out into the far field. It almost felt good to hear their surprised cries as they flew through the air and then the thud as they landed, dizzy but unharmed. There are always been something therapeutic about de-gnoming the garden, although it never stopped him complaining about it. Spotting what he had come for, he headed straight to the tree — Mariah’s tree with the old, dilapidated rope swing hanging precariously from one intact rope. The cool spring air swept over the garden, a sharp contrast to the warm summer breeze in the wizard mausoleum. He shivered slightly, but didn’t alter his path as he strode purposefully to the old tree and sank down to his knees. Mariah had asked him to let her go and he had intended to, but now that he was here he wasn’t sure how he could do it. He had carried the grief with him now for so long that it had become part of him, fused with his very soul. He looked down at his wedding band, the symbol of their love that he had been carrying around for almost two decades now and a tear slipped down his cheek. Wrenching the thin gold band off his finger wasn’t easy after all these years but somehow he managed it, although the tears of pain and frustration were flowing freely by the time he had it off. Brandishing his wand in front of him at the base of the sturdy oak, he muttered a spell and immediately a small hole about six inches deep formed in the dirt between two large protruding roots. With one last, choking breath, he dropped the gold band into the hole and then muttered the spell to close it up again, the ground looking completely untouched when he was through. For a long time Stephen sat and stared at the base of the tree, not having the strength to move. All of his energy had drained out of him with that last spell and he didn’t know what to do. He barely had the strength to move, let alone Apparate back to the gates of Hogwarts. Blindly, he stood and made his way back to the house. Somehow he found his way to their old bedroom. Lying crosswise on the bed, he pulled the slightly dusty duvet over his tired body and cried himself to sleep. *** An insistent tapping noise at the window woke him from his dreamless sleep. Opening his eyes, he shut them again quickly, groaned and then let out a long sigh. He hadn’t meant to stay here all night. When he lay down all he really wanted was a quick kip before he mustered up the strength to get back to school. The tapping continued, and he opened one bleary eye to investigate. Zeus was at the window, and from the looks of it he was not happy. “Coming,” Stephen groaned in a sleepy voice, checking his watch as he stumbled out of the bed. It appeared to be close to six in the morning. He opened the window, which seemed to stick a bit as he tugged it open. The Snowy Owl hopped inside and gave him a half mournful half reproachful look. “Don’t start,” he old the owl sternly. “I was bloody tired.” Zeus cocked his regal head as if to say he didn’t buy that excuse. “What would you have me do?” Stephen sighed, knowing it was useless to argue with a bird. “Splinch myself?” Zeus clicked his beak roughly as if to say, ‘Of course not, you idiot.’ “Well then, I-” Just then voices from outside drifted in the bedroom through the open window. “…magical tracer said that it came from the back,” a man’s voice drifted in from the open window. “I still don’t understand why it’s so important to the Dark Lord that we have to check it out now,” his companion, a younger man, whined. “I’ve been up all night and I’m dead on my feet.” “Keep your voice down,” the older man admonished sharply. “The person could still be here. And how many times do I have to tell you Antonio… never question the Dark Lord’s motives or directives if you value your life.” By this time Stephen had moved to the open window and was watching, hidden by the long, dusty drapes. For a split second he was sure he was about the give away his position; he had to fight back a sneeze brought on by all the dust, but his Auror instincts kicked in just in time to prevent him from making such a huge blunder. “Pfft,” the younger one scoffed with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I know, I know… Do I look stupid?” he said as if he had heard it a hundred times a day. “Not like I’d say anything to his face, anyway. Well, whoever was here is long gone by now,” he said with authority. The older one stopped and fixed him with a highly annoyed glare. “What makes you think that?” Antonio looked around at the empty garden as if it was obvious. “Do you see anyone?” “We haven’t checked the house yet.” Stephen stiffened. He couldn’t Apparate inside the house with the wards in place and if he used a spell to hide himself their magical tracers would pick it up instantly. He only options were to hide like a coward the Muggle way and hope to avoid being seen or fight his way out and risk bringing more Death Eaters to the scene. Not much of a choice. “It’s obviously been abandoned,” Antonio said. “Then what’s that window doing open?” his companion shot back smugly. “Window? What window?” “That one over there in the corner near the back of the house.” Damn, Stephen thought. I’d hoped they wouldn’t spot that. He hadn’t wanted to risk closing the window for fear that he would be caught. He began looking around frantically for a place to hide but nothing was popping out at him at the moment. “Good point,” Antonio said reluctantly. “I’ll take the front of the house, you take the back.” “Me?” the older man said. “How about you take the back, since you’re the junior here. I’m supposed to be training you, remember? I give the orders around here.” “Exactly,” Antonio said with satisfaction. “So show me how it’s done, then, Al. I wouldn’t want to get it wrong.” “Why you cheeky-” he said, too angry to finish his thought. “And the name’s Albert, not Al.” “Right.” Stephen heard the sounds of scuffling and the door opening. “Someone’s definitely been here recently,” the younger man said in a muffled voice. Stephen could tell that they were inside the house now because it was harder to hear them through the walls that separated the front of the house and the bedroom. He went to the door and opened it a crack so that he could hear better, his wand at the ready just in case he had to return fire quickly. “I can see the footprints on the floor from the dust.” “Looks like a man, and he was alone,” Albert said, bending down to examine them closely. “Maybe it’s not him,” Antonio said hopefully. “It’s him, alright,” Albert said with a shake of his head. He stood up quickly and fired a spell that dissipated in the air. “What was that for?” “A signal to the Dark Lord that we found something,” Antonio explained. “Better straighten up, kid. We’re about to get company.” Stephen groaned inwardly. This was not good. But another part of his brain was thinking that maybe they could use this situation to their advantage. If he could inform the Order in time, maybe they could strike a blow to Voldemort’s forces… surprise them. They wouldn’t be expecting reinforcements other than their own to show up. If he could buy them some time, it just might work. Hoping that there were still parchment and quills in the bedroom, he rummaged around until he found them. “Did you hear that?” Albert’s voice said from the hallway. Knowing that he was caught, Stephen pointed his wand at the door and silently said a spell that closed and sealed it. He then waved his hand over the entrance and reinforced the spell with a special something he had learned on his travels — a spell that would take hours to decipher and break through. He’d do the same to the rest of the room as soon as he sent Zeus back to Hogwarts with the note. Finding what he was looking for, he uncapped the ink and muttered a spell to hydrate it again, then dipped his quill in the bottle and quickly wrote a note. “Take this to Hogwarts and try not to be seen,” he told Zeus. “Bring back help. Hurry.” The bird took the note in his beak and flew out the open window which Stephen quickly shut, locked, and then spelled. Moving about the room, he performed every spell that he could think of to seal himself in, ignoring the rumbling in his stomach. How long had it been since he’d last eaten? Once done he settled himself on his bed to wait, and only then did he think of what a blunder he had just made. What if Zeus went to Harry? Why didn’t he tell Zeus to go straight to Dumbledore? Stephen swore violently. What had he been thinking? And, more importantly, what would he do if Harry showed up and Voldemort managed to capture him again? Stupid, stupid, stupid, he said as he hit his forehead repeatedly with the palm of his hand. *** As an owl, Harry followed Zeus to a Muggle town hundreds of miles away. To keep his mind off Ginny and Stephen he considered the owl’s ability to get from one place to another quickly, even over long distances. He knew that ordinary birds would never have been able to fly that far in a matter of a few hours, but with Zeus’ guidance they managed to do just that. He didn’t notice anything especially magical about the journey other than the wind whipping his feathers, pillowing under his wings, but it felt magical so he knew it must be magical, somehow. They swooped down to a tree with a low-hanging branch just outside the window of an ordinary looking home. Harry shifted his weight from side to side, trying to get a look inside. The house was just a run of the mill house — nothing special. It was rather small and could have been rather homey if it hadn’t been neglected. From the looks of it, the cottage hadn’t been lived in for quite some time. Harry was considering transforming back into his human form when he heard voices. “…don’t know what spells he’s using but nothing works. We called Riordan to come take a look. He’s the best Curse-Breaker in the business and he’s loyal to the Dark Lord. If Riordan can’t break through, then no one can.” “The Dark Lord wants frequent updates on your progress,” a second voice answered. “He can’t afford to take the time to come personally until you have something more definite, but if it is Hunter in that room, then he wants him alive.” Both voices were male and sounded familiar to Harry, but he couldn’t place them. “And if Potter shows up,” the man continued, “you know what to do.” Harry’s resolve hardened when he heard that comment; he hadn’t come looking for a fight — just to get Stephen out of whatever jam he’d gotten into and get back to Hogwarts as quickly as possible — but the sound of his own name coming from this unknown Death Eater’s lips made him want to burst through the door throwing all sorts of hexes he’d learned over the past year. His time under Voldemort’s control was fuzzy, but he’d found that one thing he had no trouble recalling was the curses and hexes his body had performed. It was like an instinctual memory, unconscious but there when he needed it. Now that he had his full power back, he hadn’t had a chance to really put his skills to the test. This seemed like the perfect opportunity. Stephen would murder him if he got caught or injured, but that was a chance he’d have to take. The sooner they both got back to Hogwarts and Ginny, the better. Taking a page out of Rita Skeeter’s book, the first thing he did was change into a beetle so that he could get a closer look inside the house without being noticed. An owl peeping through the window was too obvious, but a common insect was easily overlooked. He had never transformed into something that small before but, once he got used to the change in perspective of being so tiny in such a large world, he found that it wasn’t terrible. So long as he stayed away from spider webs and people or animals that could harm him, he should be safe enough he supposed. He soon learned that there were roughly seven Death Eaters in and around the house and, after careful searching, he located Stephen holed up in a bedroom near the back of the house. He could see Stephen pacing around the room through the window, and he was beginning to look twitchy. Harry wondered how close the Death Eaters were to breaking through whatever warns Stephen had placed on the room. He could feel the magic under his tiny bug body. He’d bet anything that the Death Eaters had already tried unsuccessfully to break the glass. There was an exceptionally strong Unbreakable charm on it. What he needed was a distraction. An earthquake should do the trick, he thought with a grin. That’d definitely shake them up and get them running around, then he could pick them off one by one. Flying to a nearby tree, he waited until he was under cover of the thick foliage and sitting on a thick, sturdy branch before he transformed back into his human form. He needed to be human to perform the spell because it required his full focus. He had just started doing elemental magic last summer when preparing for the Ballgame and, since his capture, he hadn’t done anything with it to his knowledge. Still, he knew the basics of what it took to produce a small earthquake, so it shouldn’t be that difficult. What was it that Macoa told him once…? He had to know that he could do it. Limitations and self-doubt were the things that held him back. Holding his hands out in front of him palms down, he focused his magic through his arms, out his hands, and down into the earth, willing it to do his bidding. The earth responded with such enthusiasm that it nearly knocked Harry out of the tree. The tremors and noise rumbled underneath him, centring on the house where he had been pointing his hands. He could hear cracking and pops from the timbre breaking, and the telltale sounds of glass shattering both inside and around the house. Harry cursed as the thought occurred to him that he might actually bring the structure down on top of Stephen and the Death Eaters inside. Flexing his fingers in a fist and gaining control of his magic, the rumbling stopped as abruptly as it had begun. Then the shouting started as several of the Death Eaters began to panic. “What the bloody hell was that?” Harry heard one swear. “This part of England hasn’t seen an earthquake in centuries,” another exclaimed. “What if it’s Dark magic?” “All’s the better, then,” the man who seemed to be the leader said in a hard voice. “Get hold of yourselves lads. Phillips… take Hasting with you and check the grounds. Make sure there’s nothing amiss, and then report back to me. Johnston… check the back room. With any luck that quake knocked a few of Hunter’s wards down, or at the very least weakened them. I want that room open within the hour! The Dark Lord will be checking in soon and I want good news for him, understood?” The Death Eaters disappeared amid a chorus of ‘yes sirs’ and Harry observed the two who must be Phillips and Hasting start to check the grounds, their wand lit to cast light against the newly darkened sky. He let one walk by him and then dropped to the ground behind the other one, casting two stunners simultaneously with each hand, knocking the Death Eaters out cold. Two down, six to go. He dragged the two men behind a faraway tree and disillusioned them so that they were hidden from view. As an extra precaution he also confiscated their wands then bound their mouths, hands, and feet just in case they woke up. Then he waited. It wasn’t long before Harry heard the screen door bang and two more Death Eaters came outside grumbling. “I’d wager Phillips is having a fag,” one said with a frown. “Ruddy awful things, if you ask me. I swear, at times he’s no better that a filthy Muggle.” “What if something happened,” the other one worried. “Maybe they got eaten by a wild animal.” The other one hooted in laughter. “Wild animals in Manchester? I know this is the countryside lad, but I don’t think Phillips and Hasting have been attacked by lions or tigers, do you?” He laughed again as he rounded the side of the house. “Wild animals, indeed!” Unfortunately for him Harry had heard the entire conversation and had gotten a brilliant idea from listening to them. Concentrating on becoming a lion, he transformed into the regal animal seconds before they turned the corner. Both men let out a startled cry as Harry opened his jaws wide and roared as loudly as he could. One fainted dead away while the other one took off screaming as Harry chased him. When they were far enough away from the house, Harry transformed and hit him with Petrificus Totalis in the back. He dropped to the ground like a stone. Harry levitated him behind a large bush and, just like the other two, confiscated his wand then bound him with the Incarcerous spell so that if he managed to break the petrification spell he’d still have to find a way out of the bindings. Once he had him situated he also placed the disillusionment spell on him for good measure. Voices drew his attention to the house where three more Death Eaters had revived the one who had fainted. “What happened?” Harry heard a female voice shriek. He tuned into the conversation with the help of his enhanced hearing. “L-lion,” the Death Eater stuttered incoherently. “Right t-there,” he said, pointing to the spot where Harry had been waiting for them. “He must have hit his head when he fell,” another Death Eater commented, disgust and doubt edging his voice. “You fools!” she screeched. “It’s most likely a trick of the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore. Keep your wand at the ready and spread out,” she commanded them harshly. “You two…” she pointed to the nearest Death Eaters including the one who had fainted, “find Rolland, Hasting, and Phillips.” When they hesitated for a split second she shouted, “What are you waiting for? Go!” They both ran off in different directions. “Jones,” the unknown female Death Eater barked to the man who was left, “go back inside and tell Demeter that three of our people have disappeared. Have Johnston stand guard in front of the bedroom door just in case someone tries to infiltrate the house. And tell Demeter that he may need to call in reinforcements, and inform the Dark Lord. Potter may have something to do with this.” The more she talked the more Harry was certain that he had heard her voice before, many months ago in that cave. She had been talking to Bellatrix and Snape as she taunted him from underneath her mask. It also registered what she was saying about calling in more Death Eaters. That was the last thing he needed. Harry cast a disillusionment spell on himself wordlessly, feeling the unmistakable sensation of the spell taking effect as it washed over him. Carefully he made his way through the darkness till he was within a short distance of the house, then he dropped to the ground and changed into a snake and slithered the rest of the way until he was under the house. Hoping to find a way inside, he was rewarded with a beam of light coming through a small hole in the floorboards. It looked as if it might have been created by a rat or mouse, but it was big enough for him to stick his head up and take a peek around. His ears picked up on muffled conversation but his eyes refused to work properly. Harry had forgotten that snakes had very limited vision. Frustrated with his even poorer than usual eyesight, Harry focused his senses on his surroundings and managed to identify the magical auras of two human forms in the room — one decidedly stronger than the other. He could just barely pick up a third form down a hallway standing in front of a mass of magical energy that he assumed was the bedroom Hunter had barricaded himself inside. Harry listened carefully to the man, Jones, give his report to the person he assumed was Demeter. “Alexandra is handling it?” Demeter asked. “They’re out looking for the other three now,” Jones replied. “She said to tell you that you may need to call in reinforcements and inform the Dark Lord. It’s possible that Potter has something to do with this.” “Potter is a child,” Demeter scoffed. “I have no worries about him.” “But the Dark Lord-” “…Is not controlling him anymore,” Demeter finished. “Without my Lord’s power behind him, Potter is nothing.” “But it is rumoured that the boy is even more powerful than the Dark Lord himself,” Jones whispered worriedly. “…That he can control the elements and take any form-” “Silence!” Demeter shouted, grabbing Jones’ collar. “Do not speak such heresy in my presence. I will not tolerate such lies! One more word of that nature and I will have the pleasure of killing you myself.” “S-sorry,” Jones stammered. “I didn’t mean…” “Never mind!” Demeter bellowed irritably as he released the younger man with a small shove. “Go tell Alexandra that I am not calling in reinforcements until I know what happened to Phillips, Hasting, and Rolland. I’m giving her until half past to find them and determine who or what caused that earthquake. After that, I will decide what to do and who needs to be contacted.” Deciding he’d heard enough, Harry made his way back under the house and crawled in the general direction of Stephen’s room. Judging from the magic he had seen, Harry knew that it was a Mixtec spell Stephen was using to block the door and window. Stephen had been teaching him some of the more advanced spell work of the island people in their sessions the past few weeks and in the months before his capture. Harry wasn’t sure what specific combination of spells Stephen was using, but he had a general idea how he could get into the room. Basically, the spells were cross-woven together for strength. By using his sensing abilities, hopefully he could detect a hole or gap between the wards large enough for a shape-shifter to get through. Even if his current form wouldn’t fit, he could always transform back into the beetle or even a smaller insect if he needed. It turned out that he didn’t have to find a gap in the spells after all. Stephen had obviously not thought that he needed to ward the floor, so once Harry found the right room he transformed into an ant and climbed up through a crack in the floorboards. In a flash, Harry transformed back into human form, realising his mistake too late. The resounding crack of a spell being cast was all the warning he was given as he was blasted against the wall with a painful thud. * A/N: Please check out a new website developed by my good friends Muggle Momma and Melindaleo. The site is called ‘Let Harry Live dot com’ and is a direct plea to the powers that be to not kill our hero. There’s even a petition to sign! So, come on over, look over the site, and support the cause. Thanks to all of you who are reviewing. I haven’t answered them because doing so takes time away from the writing, but I have read every one and they are all wonderful. Thank you so much! |
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