Harry Potter and the Secret Within

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter & co and never will

A/N: Special thanks to Masked One for helping me. Without her this story would not be here. Cheers.

Chapter 2-Riddles in the Dark

She was still sleeping peacefully in her bed when the sun sent its ethereal messenger to gently lure her from the sweet embrace of the dreamland. A sly smile arched the corners of her lips and she opened her eyes to greet the new day.

Ah, another great day for reading, she reasoned as she saw the clear blue sky through her window. She loved to cuddle in her favorite chair in her parents' garden with a good book. The light breeze amidst her bushy hair always gave her a feeling of freedom.

The girl directed her thoughts towards her next conquest, a book entitled "The Life and Achievements of the Most Prominent Witches in History". She'd found it on the wrong shelf in the bookstore during her last Hogsmeade weekend, and had immediately bought it.

A feeling of uneasiness accompanied her mental projection. She stood in the middle of her bedroom and scanned her surroundings with an attentive frown. Everything was in order--very particular order, to be precise. Nothing had been moved from their carefully chosen places.

Her eyes flew quickly over her bed and nightstand, over her wardrobe and her impressive bookcase, and finally settled on her desk. The book sat patiently there, just waiting to be read. She touched the leather cover with the tips of her fingers and another wave of restlessness swept through her.

Something definitely wasn't right. If she could only put her finger on it...

She felt the cause of her discomfort floating right at the periphery of her perceptions. Closing her eyes, she took three deep breaths to steady herself. The tumult only increased, spreading through her body. What's happening to me? And why is the room spinning?

She put her hand at her temple, and by sheer force of will focused her vision on the book, putting an end to the rotation of the room. Swallowing the knot in her throat, she tried to drive the nausea away. "Snap out of it Granger. Think!" she reproached herself aloud, eager to hear her voice and convince herself that she wasn't sleeping anymore.

After taking another quick glance around the room she decided that the cause of whatever had happened wasn't there. As she was sitting down to ponder the strange situation, a terrible thought crept into her mind and the blood froze in her veins.

"Mum, Dad!" she yelled at the top of her lungs as she ran down the stairs, following the scent of coffee to the kitchen. She burst through the door, slamming it into the wall. She saw only her father with a newspaper in his hand and a puzzled expression in his eyes; in that moment she froze with fear.

"Pumpkin, what's wrong?" her father asked with great concern. He rose from the table and strode over to his daughter, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Tell me, what happened?"

"Dad, where's mum?" She asked with a trembling voice, her vision starting to become blurry. "Where is she? Please tell me she's all right--" she could not control herself anymore and she fell to her knees, tears falling freely from her eyes.

"Hermione, I'm right here", came the sweet voice of her mother from behind her, and she felt a pair of loving arms wrapping around her body, easing the pain that threatened to crush her. But the relief she felt at her mother's touch was short lived. As soon as she knew that her parents were safe a wave of horror crashed into her with the power of a sledgehammer.

"No", she whispered weakly. "No!" Her tears had stopped and the awful weight on her shoulders had disappeared as well. She stood for a moment, breathing hard, waiting for her heartbeat to calm. When she finally took control of herself she looked up with a sad gaze at her parents stunned faces.

How could she explain what had just happened?

When she opened her mouth to utter the expected explanations, a knock at the door reverberated in the deep silence that encircled them. Mrs. Granger stood on shaky legs and went to answer the door. She returned quickly, followed by a young woman with sparkling eyes and deep red hair.

"Wotcher, Hermione", the young woman greeted the girl in a dreary voice.

"Harry...he's dead, isn't he?" Hermione asked in a bitter breath, not daring to look into Tonks' eyes.

***

There was nothing exceptional about the wall that completely surrounded a small hill near the suburbs of Harllow. It was just a normal fifty-five foot tall, red brick wall with no openings whatsoever, unaffected by the passing of years. It's history was unknown; the elders from the village could remember their forefathers talking about it, but what they said was lost in the pits of their memories.

Nobody wanted to know anything about it, or about what lay beyond. People seemed to be very content in their blissful ignorance. And if, by some casual occurrence, a young couple strode towards the hill during a lovely Sunday afternoon, they would most suddenly remember some very import affair--like doing the dishes or cutting the lawn--that needed their most devoted attention. They would slowly turn their backs to the wall, never to approach it again.

The isle of trees that covered the hill was just as plain as the wall itself. No matter what the time of year, the small forest always had the same grayish colors. It didn't matter if it was the middle of winter or a sunny summer day, the trees always had the same tattered brown leaves hanging from their branches, leaves that never seemed to shiver in the wind.

And then there was the silence flooding the place... and eerie silence that erupted from the earth itself, it's only purpose to muffle all sounds of the world. No bird had ever been seen to fly over the hill, no bugs and no bees were crawling through the dead canopy. No sound, no motion...

Only death.

Deep within the bowels of the hill there was a small, round throne room. It was right in the middle of a labyrinth of passageways that connected several chambers from different parts of an underground complex. The many galleries were paved with rough blocks of granite, polished under the pressure of ages. A thin layer of dust covered the cobbles, and cobwebs dangled like clusters of grapes, bringing a much needed airiness to the place.

Here and there torches sent out dismal rays of red light that added more ghastliness to the already glomming surroundings. Monolithic pillars carved into hideous and gruesome shapes kept the tunnels from crumbling beneath the weight of the hill. The skulls of long dead, unfortunate humans could be seen quite frequently, staring with empty sockets out of the wall and grinning at the black-robed man as he passed by.

Dressed in a gown as dark as night, he glided through the murky halls of stone, his feet hardly touching the ground. People called him Nightshade, and believed that the name was fitting. He sniffed the clammy air around him and smiled to himself.

This feels so much like home...

He drifted over to a wall and placed his left hand on the damp stone surface. He could feel the cracks that had begun in the ancient structure, even through his gloves. Nightshade waited patiently to be engulfed by the mist of time and carried to another world, a world in which he had once found peace.

But all good things must come to an end, and he was abruptly snapped back to reality by the agonizing scream of a dying man. "Now, this should be interesting", he murmured to himself, striding towards the source of the commotion.

On the cold throne of the throne room, the Dark Lord stood dressed from head to toe in the deepest black. Waves of fear and terror were emanating from him just like some noxious gas, paralyzing everything in sight.

Twelve Death Eaters were forming a crescent in front of him, their backs bowed in awe. They stood with their faces hidden beneath shapeless white masks, awaiting the words of their Master. Only Voldemort's red, glowing eyes could be seen under the heavy hood that covered his face.

He was seething, and at his feet lay a man, his body twisting in unnatural and very artistic configurations under the pain of the Cruciatus Curse.

"Radaman", hissed the Dark Lord in his scratchy, shivering voice, "you have failed me for the last time". And with a swish of his wand he increased the pain of the doomed man. Radaman's body began to shake uncontrollably. His bones and muscles disintegrating under the curse's pressure. He wanted to yell, wanted to beg for forgiveness, but his mouth wasn't responding to his commands. His vocal cords dissolved into dust. With his eyes popped out of their sockets and his mouth wide open, he looked very much like a huge fish that had been left to die upon the beach.

As he entered the room with an obeisance, Nightshade let out a discreet chuckle at the sight that was unraveling before him. If he had anything in common with the Dark Lord, it would be their loathing of incompetence.

Only a pile of ash remained where poor Radaman had been.

"This is the fate of all those who fail me. I do not tolerate the inabilities of my servants". The unearthly voice of Lord Voldemort sent shivers of ice through the bodies of the Death Eaters. "Each and every one of you knows their place, so go and fulfill my orders. And if you stray" he let it dangle for a moment, "you know what awaits you".

The Death Eaters bowed in silence, eager to appease their Master, and removed themselves from the room, leaving Nightshade to gaze into the pits of Voldemort's cavernous eyes.

"Do you find this amusing?" Voldemort snapped in annoyance.

"Actually, My Lord, I do..." muddy sounds echoed in the small room; no emotion and no feelings could have been discerned in his voice.

"So you wouldn't mind taking his place now, would you?" Voldemort continued dangerously.

"Ask and I shall obey", Nightshade stated without a trace of hesitation.

Voldemort seemed to ponder this for several moments before he spoke again.

"You know what to do. Hunt him down..." the shadows in the room seemed to flicker under the weight of his words.

"So it shall be, My Lord", and with a swish of his cloak, Nightshade retreated out of the room through the black shadowy veil that worked as a door.