Harry Potter and the Demonic Realm

A/N: Hello again people! Just for you people that don’t know, Tifa is a character from Final Fantasy 7, and obviously that game and its associated paraphernalia are the property of Squaresoft Inc.

Still… please PLEASE review this!! I thrive on your reviews and I’m not getting any!!!

Note: As much as this might not be relevant, if you haven’t read Amynoelle and Heaven’s massive story yet, go and check out Dirty Dancing and read on from there once you’ve finished reading this. I’ve got to hand it to them for writing the best (and probably longest) fanfiction I’ve ever read.

Lots of humiliation for the Weasley twins here indirectly from :)

Anyway, on with chapter four :D

Chapter Four

The following morning, Harry woke up after a dreamless sleep. He was highly grateful that his sleeping patterns had done that for him over the last few days; before he’d been driven to the burrow by his godfather he’d been constantly having nightmares over the loss of Sirius. Harry was highly grateful that they hadn’t continued.

He was also highly grateful that he’d managed to get a good sleep, as he glanced at the calendar and noticed it was his birthday. Although the last five years had yielded much better birthdays than before, he still didn’t see his birthday as excitedly as most people his age; he still liked them, though, given the rather eccentric presents he’d received for his birthdays.

“Oi Harry, wake up!” Ron shouted from the other side of the door, pounding it with his fist happily. Harry groaned in pain as the noise Ron was making was agonizing to his ears which had only just woken up.

“Okay, okay,” Harry shouted back through the door irritably, “I think there might be some people in who didn’t hear you, Ron”

Harry heard Hermione laugh from behind the door. “Good point,” She said, “Be grateful that you aren’t standing where I am, Harry”

“I assure you I am” He replied, grinning. Ron pushed the door open.

“You realize we’ve been waiting for you to wake up for THREE hours now?” He asked irritably.

“I’ll wonder what you’re irritated about,” Harry said innocently, “Maybe what’s on the table?”  Hermione laughed.

“Sod off” Ron snorted, as the three walked downstairs. Once they reached the foot of the staircase, Harry was amazed to see that the table had been practically prepared for a feast, with an emerald coloured banner above it that read: ”Happy Birthday Harry”. He suddenly understood why Ron had been so impatient as he noticed the table was laid down with Mrs Weasley’s cooking.

“Finally!”  Ron said in relief, beaming at the thought of Harry’s cake. Everyone in the room except Ron rolled their eyes knowingly, and sat down at the table. Mrs Weasley beckoned Harry to blow out the candles.

“Unless you want your lungs to seize up, Harry, I don’t suggest you try to blow out those candles.”

“Why not?”

“Think twins. Blow to the right of the candles and see what happens.”

Harry blew out the candles, albeit he missed; his blow of air went to the right slightly, and yet the candles were still diminished. Suddenly, a small orange glow engulfed the wick of each candle in turn, and a massive spray of paint went towards Fred, who had been trying to escape his seat beforehand with little success. The room burst into laughter, as did Ant’s voice.

“Try again, Fred,” Harry said, grinning widely, “You aren’t going to get those jokes on me.” Fred didn’t reply, as he was completely covered in multicoloured flashing paint.

“How did you know we jinxed those candles, Harry?” George asked, a mixture of awe and confusion written on his face.

“I’m good at finding your pranks,” Harry replied, “I’ve seen half of them in the shop, anyway.” George seemed to find this answer satisfactory, and went back to trying to vanish the paint off of Fred’s jumper. Harry began to cut a large slice out of his cake when he noticed George looking at him in a very suspicious way.

“I wonder what that look might mean, Harry. What do you think?”

“That the cake is cursed or something?”

“That’s the one. You know that instrument in your left pocket?”

“Hold on a minute, all my pockets are empty”

“Not if I say so. Take that instrument out of your left pocket, point it at the cake and say ‘quontus’”

Harry felt around in his left trouser pocket, and he nearly jumped when he felt a metal object there. It was as cold as ice.

“And make sure no one sees you.” Harry slowly pulled the instrument out of his pocket. Somehow, the moment it came out of his pocket, he knew exactly how it worked; he pointed the thin end at the cake and muttered ‘quontus’ under his breath. The knife that had been laid next to the cake jumped up and sliced a fairly sized wedge of the cake out, which seemingly levitated itself onto his plate. Harry smiled maliciously at the Weasley twins who were looking at him in confusion.

“As I said, you aren’t going to get me with one of your pranks,” Harry said slowly, relishing every word, “So stop trying.”

“Or rather,” Remus interrupted, laughing, “You aren’t going to get Ant with one of those pranks. Quontus is a demonic spell, isn’t it, Albus?”

“I’m not certain, Remus, I haven’t read up on them in decades” Came Albus’s response from the other end of the table.

“It is,” Ant’s voice replied conveniently from the ceiling, “And it seems to have done quite well.”

“You can’t possibly give Harry a device like that!” Remus exclaimed.

“It isn’t your choice what I give Harry, Remus,” Ant’s voice said irritably. “And anyway, I didn’t give it to him permanently. If you haven’t already noticed it isn’t there any more.”

“It’s still highly dangerous, Anthony,” Professor Dumbledore stated. “I don’t think-“

“I don’t think what you have to tell me is of any value, Professor,” Ant’s voice spat back at him, “I think you should consider yourself lucky that I haven’t killed you already for what you’ve done.”

“What are you implying, Anthony? I haven’t-“

“You’ve got some bloody nerve to say that, Professor,” Ant’s voice interrupted. “Thanks to you, at least ten of Harry’s friends have been put in a fatal situation, Harry himself has been on the verge of death several times, and we’ve lost our godfather. And now, you sit here, trying to tell me that you haven’t DONE anything?!”

“Perhaps I have made my mistakes, but they weren’t exactly your commands, were they?” Professor Dumbledore replied in a shaky voice, having already lost his cool demeanor. This unnerved the rest of the table; they hadn’t ever seen Dumbledore lose his calm front before.

“Do you remember what my will stated, Professor?” Ant’s voice asked. “The will of Kevin Pillbeam, I mean?”

“N-Yes,” Albus stated, changing his decision mid-word.

“EXACTLY!” Ant’s voice roared, and every person sat at the table recoiled in fear. “AND YET STILL YOU MAKE THE SAME STUPID MISTAKES! HOW MANY MORE PEOPLE MUST DIE BEFORE THE MESSAGE DRILLS ITSELF INTO YOUR HEAD?” Dumbledore sat with an expression of the utmost fear and guilt, and was completely lost for words. “Just be glad I’m not coming back into Hogwarts for another three weeks. I’ll return when I’ve calmed down a little… but when I do return, ensure that Professor Dumbledore’s voice doesn’t reach my ears. It might not be good for his health.” Professor Dumbledore sighed heavily.

A single tear slowly fell down Remus’s cheek. He wore an expression which was a mixture of anger and sorrow, and he was looking in Albus’s direction.