PR: Boy-Who-Lived

PHOENIX REBORN: Chapter 2: Boy-Who-Lived

He awoke with a start, and lay staring at the ceiling in confusion, having had no idea what had awoken him.

Then there was a bang, and the whole house shuddered. It sounded, and felt, as if something as large as a building had fallen over several streets away.

Harry sat up and fumbled for his glasses. He sprang up and ran to the window, and when he saw it, it was almost as though he had been expecting it. Several streets away, a Dark Mark glittered and cast its ghostly green light over the house rooftops.

He found his wand, and flung on a jumper over his pyjamas. Someone, who lived in the back of his head, was reminding him that he should stay in Privet Drive, but Harry was not in the mood for listening to that sensible little voice. He felt a sort of reckless despair welling up inside of him. Did it really matter if a Death Eater was waiting outside to curse him into oblivion?

The Dursleys, unbelievably, remained asleep as he crept out of his room and down the darkened stairs as the house juddered again with a distant crash. He eased open the front door and emerged into the darkened street. The night air was chilly and several lights were on in nearby houses, as if several occupants of Privet Drive had been woken by the commotion. Harry couldn’t care. He turned and dashed off in the direction of where he judged the Dark Mark to be. He had no idea what he intended to do once he got there.

A part of him wanted Bellatrix to be there. He wanted to curse her, he wanted to make her feel a good deal of pain. Harry’s mind refused to deal with the idea of himself actually pointing the wand at her and saying the dread words, but his rage and grief drove him on.

If Voldemort was there - well - wasn’t that what he was supposed to do? Fight Voldemort or die in the attempt?

He cut his feet several times on sharp stones and broken glass, but did not acknowledge the pain and ran on anyway. Little things like that did not matter anymore.

He rounded a corner and saw that he had arrived - and at the same time, the sensible little voice in his head stopped him dead.

Sirius died trying to save you. Who might die if you need to be saved from this, too?

He skidded to a halt, heart thumping. He couldn’t turn and go back to number four, not now, but at the same time, he did not want to give Voldemort or his followers the opportunity to rob him of another friend. He stepped back in the shadows - and then stood immobilised with horror at the scene.

A muggle house had been broken open. The air was abnormally cold - several Dementors were gathered around the burning ruin, obviously hoping to feed. Shadowy, hooded, masked figures ran in and out of the house, laughing. A teenage girl, who looked to be about Harry’s age, was lying dead, spread-eagled on the lawn outside - having clearly been cut down in mid-flight. A woman who looked to be her mother was screaming shrilly in pain, as a Death Eater stood and trained his wand on her, cackling.

Harry felt sick as his eyes took in more of the horror. A man was lying half in and half out the front door, his blood staining everything nearby. It looked as though a Severing Charm had been used to cut off his limbs one by one. Flames seemed to be staining the very air red.

Muggles were frozen at their windows, gaping in horror. Some of them had seemingly tried to intervene - which explained why a pile of limp, unmoving people lay near the Dementors. As Harry watched, a Death Eater emerged from the house, holding a screaming five year old boy aloft. Chuckling obscenely, he made a gesture of offering towards the Dementors.

Harry couldn’t stand it any longer. He couldn’t stand aside whilst this happened. Brandishing his wand, he leapt out from the shadows and tried to summon up a happy memory that would fight the power of the Dementors. But no memory came to him. Standing, frozen, wand raised, soul weighed down with grief and despair and brain struggling to remember something happy, it was only a matter of seconds before one of the Death Eaters saw him.

A masked face turned in his direction.

The Death Eater let out a harsh cry of alarm, but Harry’s muscles had sprung into action again.

“Stupefy!” he cried, sending a red beam of magic at the Death Eater. The Death Eater crumpled, but not the others were aware.

“Crucio!” snarled a voice from behind Harry, but he did not stop to look behind and dived out of the way.

“Reducto! Impedimenta!” Harry yelled, sending one Death Eater flying but missing the other. The cold tore at his soul; the Dementors were moving in.

He looked for the Death Eater holding the struggling boy and ran at him, afraid to hex the man for fear of hitting the child accidentally.

“Crucio!” shrieked the voice from behind again and the sudden pain drove Harry to the ground. It felt as though hundreds of needles were being dug into him and then drawn upwards. Through his pain, Harry saw a flash of green light: the woman’s misery had been ended, and the boy started screaming with renewed volume.

Harry staggered upwards and whirled around.

“PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!” he roared at the Death Eater who’d attacked him twice from behind; the man fell to the ground, stiff as a board.

He turned around in time to see one of the Dementors seize the little boy around the neck and lower its hood-

“EXPECTO-” he started to scream, but he wasn’t focussing, he still couldn’t find a happy memory-

“SILENCIO!” shouted the Death Eater who had handed the boy over, and no noise would come from Harry’s mouth.

He saw the Dementor clamp its jaws around the boy’s mouth-

He wanted to scream something in denial, and he was running madly towards the Dementors-

“REDUCTO!” called the Death Eater again; the spell hit Harry in the legs and sent him flying.
He hit the ground hard and tasted blood-

-The boy was limp, his eyes empty. The Dementors were gliding towards him now-

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!” screamed three voices from seemingly nowhere.

At once, three Patronuses were galloping towards the Dementors, shining like beacons in the night. The Aurors had arrived, spells flew over his head towards the remaining Death Eaters-

-He didn’t care. He scrambled upwards and pelted towards the house.

He jumped over the body of the man in the doorway and ran into a world of smoke and heat. Choking in the dark smog, he saw the staircase through a haze and dashed upwards, looking for survivors-

The flames were driving him back, their blistering heat singing his jumper. He glanced, eyes streaming, through the doorways-

-A room which the flames had not yet reached. A cot. A baby.

Everything seemed to suddenly stand still. For a moment, the smoke and the flames faded into insignificance. The baby might have been sleeping. Harry could see the dark eyelashes set against pale, soft skin. As if in a dream, Harry leant forward and slid his arms under the baby’s neck and legs and lifted. The baby hung limply in his arms.

This should have been him. If everything that fateful night had happened according to Voldemort’s plans, this should have been him. He should have died like that, unmarked, as if still sleeping. This should have been him.

A hand suddenly grabbed his arm. Still holding the baby, he was being dragged outside into the chilly night air - still clutching a dead body-

“HARRY!”

Remus Lupin was dashing towards him and his Auror rescuer, eyes wide and panicked in his pale, lined face. Harry felt nothing.

Lupin stopped at the last second, having just seen the baby in Harry’s arms. Harry could see the shock and sadness in his eyes. Soundlessly, helplessly, he offered the baby up to him.

Lupin gaped at the baby, mouth opening and shutting, at a loss. Perhaps he was thinking the same as he had done, thought Harry dully. Perhaps he was thinking about how this could easily have been a baby Harry.

Harry felt something slide down his cheek. Lupin was looking at him in pity and horror. He seemed not to know what to do. Harry didn’t blame him; how could anyone respond when they have had a dead baby thrust at them?

“Remus-” There was a gasp and the voice was cut off.

Beyond Lupin, Harry could see Albus Dumbledore standing there, seemingly momentarily frozen. Then he was right beside them and Harry couldn’t remember the intervening time at all.
Dumbledore’s eyes were filled with pain as he looked at Harry holding the dead baby. Harry was sure he saw the old wizard blink back tears.

“Harry.” Dumbledore’s arms were held out, shaking slightly.

Harry stared blankly at Dumbledore, unable to speak - and not just because of the silencing spell. He gently set the baby in Dumbledore’s arms. Dumbledore caressed it to him in a way that seemed as though he thought the baby was still alive.

Realising dimly that the silencing spell should have worn off by now, he found his voice.

“It’s dead.”

He had meant to just inform Dumbledore that it was dead so that the wizard didn’t keep on cuddling the baby - it was too painful to watch - but to his own ears, his voice sounded wondering, startled. The strength suddenly seemed to leave him and he swayed precariously. Lupin supported him, looking as though he was about to throw up.

“I-I’ll t-take that, s-sir.”

A young Auror had stepped up to Dumbledore, holding out a pair of arms that were shaking like spaghetti. Harry felt a sensation of vague sympathy: the Auror was so young; it looked as though this was his first mission.

“No need,” said Dumbledore quietly, his gaze alternating between the baby and Harry.

There was a loud pop and Mad-Eye Moody Apparated next to them.

Harry saw his magical eye whiz around and take in the situation within seconds. His scarred face hardened in a way that Harry had not seen before. With the weary look he interpreted as meaning that this was just yet another awful thing to add to the terrible things Moody had seen, Moody turned to Harry.

“Come along, Potter,” he said in a lower, gentler voice than usual. “You come along back with me; I’ll take you back to Headquarters. You go along and see the Medi-Witch over there for treatment,” he added, gesturing at a huge mess of people who had arrived whilst Harry hadn’t been paying attention.

“I don’t need treatment,” he mumbled in protest, feeling giddy.

“Ridiculous,” growled Moody. “You’re in shock.”

Yes, agreed Harry dizzily. I am. He wandered over to the crowd of Aurors, Medi-Witches and Ministry people in a daze.

Behind him, he heard Moody say, “Let me take that, Albus. I said, let me take that.” There was a brief pause and Harry realised distractedly that Moody was using the same soothing tone on the Headmaster as he had on him. “Come on now. It does no good to stand around holding that.”

A Medi-Witch was shining the light from her wand into his eyes, dazzling him. She healed his cut lip with the touch of her wand and then said something Harry couldn’t register, about wrapping up and staying calm. He saw her eyes drift to his scar and turned away.

“Headquarters, Potter,” Moody growled at his shoulder. “On my broom - I’m afraid you’re going to have to share for the moment.”

As they rose up into the air, Harry felt a cold trickle down his back as Moody discretely cast a Disillusionment Charm on him. He wanted to ask about what had happened to the dead baby, but something was constricting his air passages. They flew up past the Dark Mark, so the light from the grinning skull seemed to be all around him.

PR: Letters

This was a fic begun in 2005 following OotP. It is unfinished, but the central idea of the relationship between Dumbledore and Harry may be taken up again.

PHOENIX REBORN: Chapter 1: Letters

Dear Harry,

Please don’t blame yourself for Sirius’s death - it was NOT your fault, and he would not want you blaming yourself…

Dear Harry,

About what happened at the Department of Mysteries - it wasn’t your fault, mate…

Dear Harry,

I hope you are okay at the Dursleys and remember that Sirius would want you to be happy - don’t blame yourself for what happened…

Dear Harry,

You are a wonderful young man and you have nothing to be guilty about…

All the letters said the same thing. Lupin, Ron, Hermione, Mr and Mrs Weasley - none of them understood. How would they know what Sirius would want; he was gone forever, and would never be able to tell him what he wanted. How could they tell him not to feel guilty and not to blame himself when the only person the blame fell to was him? Sirius was gone.

Numbly, he read the letters through properly.

Dear Harry,

Please don’t blame yourself for Sirius’s death - it was NOT your fault, and he would not want you blaming yourself. He was brave, strong man, and nothing and no one could’ve have stopped him from doing what he wanted to do. Harry, I don’t think anyone can know how you are feeling right now, but you are welcome to write to me whenever you choose.

I can’t take Sirius’s place but I’ll be there for you.

Remus


He was touched by what Remus had said but nothing could comfort him. Instead, the pain became more real. Remus Lupin, Moony, Sirius’s old school-friend, had written to him saying that he would be there for him and that Harry could write to him. Remus should hate him now. It was because of him that Remus had lost yet another friend.


Dear Harry,

About what happened at the Department of Mysteries - it wasn’t your fault, mate. You-Know-Who tricked you - and he tricks a lot of people. I’m going to ask to see whether you can come to us this summer.

Ron

The letter had the look of one that Ron had been told to write, but had not known what to put in it. Ron hadn’t even been there when Sirius had disappeared forever. He would not be allowed to the Burrow for the summer. He was marked, and his safety depended on people he hated.

Dear Harry,

I hope you are okay at the Dursleys and remember that Sirius would want you to be happy - don’t blame yourself for what happened. How are you doing? Everyone’s worried about you. It’s not your fault; Sirius went there of his own accord. Please write back.

Hermione

Sirius would want him to be happy about his death? Harry doubted that. How did Hermione think he was doing? Perhaps Ron and Hermione were worried about him but nobody else was. They weren’t worried about him, they were worried about whether he was up to solving their little dark lord problem. He felt a surge of resentment towards Hermione - Sirius went there of his own accord - he remembered her saying, in the summer the year before, that Sirius was selfish to want not to be lonely…

Dear Harry,

You are a wonderful young man and you have nothing to be guilty about. I know you might not believe us but Molly and I would like to make it clear that no one was to blame for Sirius’s death. We consider you as a son, and although we realise you may need space at this time, we just want you to know that we are always here to listen.

Love,

Arthur and Molly Weasley

He was touched, as he had been with Lupin’s letter. We consider you as a son… Hadn’t Mrs Weasley said that before? There, at least, was a family that cared about him. But the line ‘you are a wonderful young man’ made him laugh sardonically. He had never felt less young, or less wonderful.

He sat listlessly on his bed and stared blankly out of the window, through which the letters had come. The window seemed almost a doorway to another world, where everyone was happy and unaware of his guilt. He was standing on the other side of things now. Pity and sympathy could be extended from that other, blissful world, but he could never feel happy, because he was not entitled to. Whilst Voldemort killed and tortured people, everybody was waiting for him to ‘do his thing’ and rid the world of this invincible evil.

Hatred sang through his veins at the thought of Voldemort. The monster had taken away so many lives - the lives of innocent people. His Death Eaters had destroyed Neville’s family, taken away Cedric - and now Sirius. Even then - even back then, at the Triwizard Tournament, Cedric had been depending on him, Harry, to stop it all…

It was too much to bear, too much to think about. And it was all irrelevant - all that mattered was the fact that Sirius was dead.

A part of Harry still insisted that Sirus was not dead and that he was merely waiting on the other side of the curtain in the veil, waiting for Harry to find him…

The Dursleys had left him alone. He had not been required to do any chores. His Aunt had pretended that his existence was merely optional, and his Uncle had shot him dirty looks but said nothing. His cousin snarled if he came near, but copied his parents in acting that he wasn’t there most of the time. Harry didn’t challenge this. He had spent the past few days into the summer holiday sitting in his room. He had read a little, and eaten less. He had received several copies of the Daily Prophet, and had seen evidence of the growing hysteria within the wizard community.

One headline had left him shocked, staring at a picture of the Dark Mark hanging over a comfortable-looking suburban home. Houses had been attacked. Muggle-borns had been found dead, and worse. This was merely five days into the summer holiday.

Just then, almost as if summoned by his thoughts, an owl dropped through the window, carrying the latest copy of the Daily Prophet. Harry paid the owl and took it.

MOVING MINISTRY

Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, today announced that several main Ministry departments are being moved to a more secure location following the attack on the Ministry of Magic reported earlier this month.

Minister Fudge, who has been heavily criticised for denying the return of You-Know-Who for an entire year, appeared nervous as he spoke to reporters this morning. “Several departments are being moved from the Ministry building to temporary accommodation for reasons of security,” he said. “Only employees of those departments involved will know the location, and they and their families are being offered accommodation on site.” The Minister would not reveal which departments are being moved.

When questioned as to how the Ministry ignored You-Know-Who’s return for a year, the Minister seemed embarrassed and awkward. “The evidence presented at the time was unconvincing and… well… come on, who would have believed that Lord… you know… was back?”

There have been calls for the Minister to step down in light of recent events but he refused to say if and when there would be a general election.

Harry wondered if Mr Weasley’s department was involved but then remembered that Mr Weasley’s department probably wasn’t considered to be very important. He felt as if he couldn’t really have an opinion about anything anymore.

He forced himself to write replies to the letters. He wrote a nearly identical message for all of them, saying that he was fine and thanking them for their concern. He did not mention Sirius at all. He couldn’t talk about it to anyone, not yet. He didn’t know whether he ever would be able to.

Just then, yet another bird soared through the window. It was Fawkes, and he was carrying yet another letter.

Harry had a good idea whom this might be from. He was momentarily surprised that Dumbledore had used the phoenix to deliver a letter but then realised that Dumbledore was probably trying to give some sign that he still had faith in him. This did not comfort him. Instead, it made him more angry.

The sight of Fawkes, who immediately perched on the window sill and allowed Harry to stroke him, made Harry slightly happier, but Fawkes was inextricably connected to Dumbledore - and the thought of Dumbledore made him angry and bitter. He did not want to open any letters from the Headmaster.

He took it from Fawkes and opened it viciously and quickly, reluctant to see that loopy writing.

Dear Harry,

The mistakes I have made with you are very grave, and I do not blame you if you never want to speak to me again. Sadly, I feel that that might be necessary.

Harry, I am afraid I cannot allow you to leave the Dursleys this summer. If you have been following the Daily Prophet recently, you will be aware that Voldemort is now making his presence known. I fear that you would be in danger if you left your aunt’s family.

If you are wondering who else is aware of the prophecy, none of the Order know its full contents apart from myself. If you wish anyone else to know, then it is entirely YOUR choice.

After the mistakes made last year, I have decided that you are entitled to know what is going on. One of the reasons I have used Fawkes to deliver this letter is that it would be very hard for anyone to intercept a letter sent via Fawkes, as he is not prone to attack as other birds are. I can therefore tell you that there is little to report about Voldemort’s movements other than what is already in the Daily Prophet. However, the Order are very concerned at the moment, as Fudge has decided to move several major Ministry departments to a secret, secure location. Our sources tell us that there are several moles within the Ministry, and the arrangements Fudge is making look as though they could be very advantageous in the wrong hands. It is hard to say more without being certain, as we are unsure as to Death Eater numbers at the moment. There may be no real risk at all, but I must echo Alastor Moody in his advice of ’constant vigilance.’

Harry, please do not blame yourself for the events at the Department of Mysteries. I fear I cannot say more without repeating what I said to you in my office, but I can assure you with the utmost certainty that Sirius would not want you be unhappy.

Professor Dumbledore

Harry momentarily felt as though he wanted to rip the letter up; he was so angry. He was stuck at the Dursleys, again. Stuck with a family who detested him - a family who had never been a family to him. Stuck like Sirius, in a place he didn’t want to be. Dumbledore was choosing to tell him things far too late - after Sirius was dead and gone. ’I can assure you with the utmost certainty…’ How could he say that? How could Dumbledore possibly be certain about anything Sirius would have wanted? He was right - Harry didn’t want to speak to him ever again.

As he stood, clutching the letter with his knuckles turning white, Fawkes looked at him and made a soft crooning noise.

He was being unreasonable - he knew that. Dumbledore had made a mistake.

And that - that made him angry again. Dumbledore was not meant to make mistakes! How dare he make mistakes when the people Harry cared about depended on him being right? He was furious at Dumbledore for - for failing…

Fawkes looked at him with huge golden-brown eyes. The phoenix seemed somehow sympathetic, but there was something else about his eyes that reminded Harry too much of his master.

Harry looked away and scribbled a quick note.

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Thanks.

Harry Potter

He could not put all he wanted to say into words without being rude, and he thought that Dumbledore would know better than to take ’thanks’ literally. He could not bring himself to say anymore, so he sent Fawkes off back to his master with a note that he knew would hurt him. It did not make him feel any better, but all his reserves of guilt were currently being spent on Sirius, and he did not spare any for Dumbledore.

He loaded up Hedwig with the less-than-satisfactory replies to everyone else and watched her fly away into the pale sky. His scar was prickling.