Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author Notes: *Jumps for joy* Review count almost touches 200! How, you ask? 135(FFN) + 30(Schnoogle) + 32(Portkey) = 197.
I'm most grateful to everyone who reviewed, and guess what? I got my first flame! Though I'm ignoring the fact that all it contained were 13 angry-faces (calling them smilies would be ironic) and a 1/10 rating on Portkey against an otherwise average of 9.7/10. *rolls his eyes* Strange ways these flamers turn up... All I have to say is: [CENSOR: Portion edited out for being inappropriate for PG-13 rating] ;-)
Anyway, without much ado whatsoever, let's get on with the ride... (And PLEASE DON'T forget to review)
Harry Potter and The Sacred Alliance
Chapter 6
The water sprinkling from the shower slowed down gradually as he turned the tap off. Then grabbing a towel, he proceeded to wipe himself dry. A few seconds later Ron emerged from the bathroom, his flaming red hair dripping wet with water. It was nine in the morning as he entered his bedroom to get into some clean clothes. The room was filled with a dull light - it was raining heavily outside, huge drops of water splashing against the glass window.
But it wasn't the rain that caught Ron's attention. A screech owl was hovering in the air near the window, making every attempt to pry it open and get inside - that is if owls could do such a thing. A ray of hope entered his gloomy mind - this might be something to do with Harry. But he silenced his thoughts, not wanting to get his hopes too high, as he opened the window for a moment to let the owl in.
It carried two packages addressed to him - one was a thin white envelope, while the other was a brown-colored cylindrical package, oddly looking familiar. Tearing open the envelope, Ron scanned the letter for the sender, then stared at it in surprise - the letter was from Luna Lovegood.
Ronald,
Hope you are fine. I am sending a free copy of the latest edition of The Quibbler along with this letter. Open it and you will see what this is all about. Consider it as a belated birthday gift for Harry.
By the way, congratulations to you, Harry and Hermione for your OWL results. Also give my best regards to Ginny. Looking forward to seeing you all at Platform 9¾.
With best wishes,
Luna Lovegood
For a fleeting second, Ron stopped to consider what news might be found in the magazine that would serve as a birthday present for Harry. He wondered if the girl had really lost her mind, if all she could think of were birthday presents and OWL results when Harry was in such deep trouble. Shrugging, he ripped open the cylindrical package. True to Luna's words, it contained the latest edition of The Quibbler. He didn't have to search for the article concerning Harry - the whole magazine was a special supplementary edition dedicated to the Boy-Who-Lived, mostly written by Rita Skeeter, who had entered into a long time pay-contract with Luna's father, the editor of The Quibbler, after the phenomenal success of her first article in the magazine last year.
Eyes widening, he read the feature article, and read it again just to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him. In less than a minute, he had reached downstairs, in search of Hermione. She was sitting on the couch with Ginny, depressed expressions plastered on their faces. Evidently there had been no news of Harry from the Order.
"What's up Ron?" asked Ginny, taken aback at the smile he was giving them.
"Harry's got a solid alibi! He'll win the trial!" he exclaimed, unable to hold back the news any longer. All he got in reply was a simultaneous "What?" and "How?" from the two girls.
"You remember the bus Harry used to get to your house, Hermione? It turns out that Stan Shunpike, the conductor, saw the Dark Mark too."
"Wha... you're sure?"
"Damn sure," he said, handing over The Quibbler to them.
The two girls went over the article in remarkable speed, before Ron was enveloped in a hug of joy by his sister.
"Harry will be free!" she screamed, before noticing the doubtful look that Hermione was giving them. "Wait a minute... there's got to be a catch somewhere..."
Now Ron was eyeing them both with an odd expression. "What do you mean by a catch?"
"Er... you know about The Quibbler, right? I mean - it prints loads of rubbish too - so how can we be sure if what this article says is true?" said Hermione.
"Rubbish, you say? So the article about Harry last year was rubbish too?" asked Ron, his voice rising.
"Ron, you're forgetting that I was the one who had the idea for that article," retorted Hermione, her hands resting on her hips, "and I'm talking about the stories The Quibbler publishes in general. Honestly! Do you believe in those stories of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and..."
"The lead singer of the Hobgoblins being the Sirius Black, and ancient runes which can be read upside down," Ginny finished for her. "I know what you're trying to say, Hermione, but let's just believe for a second that this article is true. You have to admit that it fits with Harry's version of events."
"Oh, all right," said Hermione, with an air of defeat. "It's not that I don't want Harry to be free... Anyway, if this article is true, then we'll have to somehow find Harry!"
"I still don't think owling him would be a bad idea. There'll be hundreds of owls flying all over England. Assuming Harry's still somewhere around London, how can the Ministry possibly know which owl to trace?" said Ron.
"Ron does have a point," added Ginny, looking expectantly at Hermione.
Hermione looked as if she was deciding whether to say something, before she spoke up. "Dumbledore must have had a reason for forbidding us... and I think I have a better idea. You remember the addresses on the letters sent to us from Hogwarts - they have our location down to the last detail, irrespective of what our permanent address is. Look at this..." she said, handing the envelope that contained her book-list.
Ron and Ginny looked at the envelope and then at her with puzzled expressions.
"Don't you two get it? They always seem to know our exact location whenever they write the addresses."
A look of comprehension dawned on Ron's features. "You mean they can locate Harry too? Then why didn't Dumbledore say anything?"
"This could just be some charm that they put on the envelope, so that it reflects the recipient's current location," said Ginny, at the same time.
"Exactly!" said Hermione excitedly. "I looked it up in Hogwarts: A History - don't you dare laugh, Ron - and I found that its the Auto-Address charm. Its a complex N.E.W.T. level charm, and not many can perform it... But I have no idea why Dumbledore doesn't use it or didn't tell us about it."
"Maybe like you said, its really difficult - even for you," said Ron. He suspected that he had hit a nerve - nobody in their right mind would put any piece of magic past Hermione Granger's ability, and that was mostly due to the fact that frankly no such spell, jinx or charm had been discovered as of yet, except for the unforgivable curses of course.
Hermione's response confirmed his suspicions. In less than a minute, the trio had decided to head off to the library at Diagon Alley to uncover more information on the Auto-Address charm, after informing Mrs. Weasley about the article just in case the Order didn't know of it.
* * *
"Is it ready, Severus?" a deep voice called out from the fireplace in the office, startling him from his work in the cauldron.
He reluctantly turned his attention from the simmering potion to the fireplace, to see the face of Albus Dumbledore eyeing him with a questioning look. Not that he hadn't recognized the voice already.
"It will be ready... in four minutes, thirty seven seconds to be exact," he replied, glancing at the clock on the wall. If preparing a Polyjuice potion was difficult, then brewing an anti-Polyjuice potion was downright impossible - that is for everyone but himself. For the past three days, he had been doing just that and even a five seconds' miscalculation on his part now would render all his relentless efforts fruitless.
"Your skill in potion-brewing never ceases to impress me, Severus. The Order members are all present in the Room of Requirement, where I shall be heading for in a moment."
"I gather that you haven't informed them of the surprise that awaits one of their number?" he asked, not bothering to hide his smirk.
"This may not give us our answer, Severus, or again it may. We will be expecting you as soon as your potion is ready." Saying so, Dumbledore's head vanished from the flames.
Once the calculated time was up, Snape turned off the flames, then, picking up a goblet of Polyjuice potion from his desk, he dropped a strand of white hair from his pocket in it. A few pain-filled moments after drinking the potion, a perfect clone of Albus Dumbledore was staring back at him from the mirror. He filled another goblet with the just prepared anti-Polyjuice potion and drank it. He writhed in agony for a few seconds before returning to his normal physical self. In spite of the pain, he smiled to himself - the potion was ready.
Ten minutes later, he was in the Room of Requirement. All the current members of the Order - except Dumbledore, Snape and McGonagall - were sitting around a rectangular table, wands left on a desk at a corner. Each was given a cup of the anti-Polyjuice potion, which they were currently drinking. Snape examined the expressions on each of their faces - some were outraged that they were suspected, some others were outraged that they had to drink the extremely foul-tasting liquid, while a few wore calm looks.
For a few long seconds, Snape wondered if he was mistaken in hoping that one of them was an impostor under the Polyjuice potion. It that was truly the case, then one of them had betrayed them, either being under the Imperius, or knowingly. But then all of a sudden, one of the members showed an expression none of the others were showing. It wasn't this expression of pain and the accompanied convulsions that stunned Snape - he had been expecting this. What did take him by surprise was that the person was Alastor Moody, or, to be exact, whoever it was who resembled his physical appearance.
A pregnant silence gripped the room - all had noticed the effect that the potion was having on Moody, and they didn't need explaining to comprehend what it meant. Finally,the convulsions stopped to reveal a short, unshaven man in a tattered overcoat, having ginger-colored hair and bloodshot eyes. Loud gasps echoed throughout the room as impostor regained his own physical appearance - Mundungus Fletcher.
* * *
He trudged along the dimly lit footpath, his Impervious clothes barely protecting him from the ice cold drizzle. His black hair was quite wet though, but his mind was too far away to notice inconsequential matters like the fact that he was shivering uncontrollably in the cold rain water soaking his hair and clothes.
He was the world's biggest jerk, he was sure of that. Life had made him. Was this life? Life was something people lived, what they planned for, what they had hopes of, something that was to be enjoyed and suffered in equal measures. No, bloody famous Harry Potter was never supposed to have a normal life. He would have nothing but misery all his life - complete with being wrongly accused of murder at the age of 16, but being the dramatic hero that he was, he was expected to put it all behind him, as if there was nothing he cared about less than his own life, and save the damned world from the villain at the same time. Only if it had been that easy...
Right from the fateful day he was laid at the Dursleys' steps with a damn scar on his forehead, he had lived nothing but hell. Like a coward, he had let himself be oppressed and bullied by the Dursleys and their friends. Then came what he thought was his one chance to shape his own destiny. He had been ecstatic - he was a wizard, and he had found a new home in Hogwarts. For the first time in his life he had friends who cared, who trusted him. How innocent he had been, knowing nothing of the prophecy that now dictated his life's sole purpose. Still, it had been, as far as he could remember, the best period of his life.
But he had to throw it all away... If it wasn't for his stupid interference, Voldemort would never had have a chance to retrieve the stone from the Mirror of Erised - Quirrel would never able to remove the stone from the mirror by himself. In his second year, he had, for once, done something right. But it was, in his opinion, purely based on luck, and there were only so many times a bloke could get lucky. Come third year, and he had made one of the biggest mistakes of his life - let Wormtail go free - even after he had heard Trelawny recite the prophecy of Voldemort's return. Next year, he made an even bigger mistake by accepting his entry into the Triwizard Tournament, and it had cost an innocent person's life. If bloody hero Potter had swallowed his self-pride and refused to enter the tournament, then the impostor would never have been able to go on with his plans. Voldemort would not have returned... and Cedric would be still alive...
As if he hadn't made enough bad choices. He had to act like a complete jackass all through the previous year, taking out his ill-formed anger on anyone and everyone around him, including his two best friends. Then, ignoring Hermione's pleadings, he had to drag not one but five other people to a battle with Death Eaters, which only culminated in the death of his godfather and near-fatal injuries to almost everyone else who had helped him. It had all been his fault - his obsession with being the hero - and ironically he was the only one who had emerged physically unscathed.
And it seemed he never learned from his mistakes. For, the moment he had learned that he was charged with murder, he did the very first thing that a guilty person would do - run away like a jerk. And that wasn't all... He had to make a reappearance in a foolish disguise in Gringotts, of all places, and stage another escape scene - this time in the midst of hundreds of terrified onlookers - confirming suspicions of his guiltiness.
If he was in need of money, he could have simply gone to Dumbledore instead. But did he really want to go back? He could take up some Muggle job in a small village or town - even if it meant doing manual labor, which he was quite experienced in, thanks to his stay with the Dursleys. He could leave the damned backstabbing magical community to fight Voldemort for themselves, and start a life of his own. Did he want to go back to a world where he was supposed to be a hero at every point in the hell that was his life? Where the very people whom his life was destined to protect kept trying their best to prove he was an insane murderer?
I don't.
You do. You can't deny it.
You're wrong. I don't want to go back to this selfish world where nobody cares for me.
Now who's lying? You do have people who care for you, and you care for them too.
THEY DON'T. They are all jealous of my fame and...
Shut it, Potter! You have best friends who would give their lives for your sake. You have others who are equally worried about you. Go back to them.
I won't.
Yes you will. You won't obtain anything by brooding in self-pity all day.
Give me one good reason why I should go back.
For the sake of everyone who's worried as hell for you now... for your best friends' sake... for her sake...
What do you mean, 'her'?
You very well know what I mean.
I have no idea what you're talking about.
Fine! Be that way. But you're still bound by the prophecy.
Damn the prophecy. I don't care what happens with Voldemort.
Yes you do... And face it - you don't have a choice.
I don't need a bloody choice! I'm not going back.
Then you don't deserve to be a Gryffindor. To think that Dumbledore called us the Heir of Gryffindor once. You're better of in Slytherin - always trying to save your own ass.
I'm not a Slytherin.
You'll be worse than a Slytherin if you don't go back now.
But...
"Watch were yer' goin', kid!"
Looking up he found that he had bumped into a large man, smelling strongly of alcohol. From the behavior of the man, it didn't take a genius to know that he was drunk. Harry backed off, surveying the place where his feet had unknowingly taken him. Although he hadn't come here before, he immediately knew that this wasn't a place he would like to find himself late in the night.
A little distance from where he was standing, he could make out a Muggle pub or nightclub or whatever it was... And from the looks of the people hanging around it, this wasn't exactly a place where a 16 year old could roam around freely. Mumbling "Sorry", he turned around, heading for the opposite direction. But he was stopped abruptly by large hands grabbing his collar from behind.
"Hey fellas! Look what we got 'ere..."
Harry struggled unsuccessfully in the man's grip, and was soon surrounded a few others - all unshaven in filthy clothes, and drunk. Harry grabbed his wand in his pocket, his temper boiling. For a fleeting moment, he had a mad urge to hex them all - it would be a wonderful way to vent his frustration. But he restrained himself; he was in enough trouble already without breaking the law himself.
"Leave me alone," he said, in a gruff voice.
In reply, the men just guffawed at him - in Harry's opinion, even a hyena must have sounded better than them.
"Ya got me scared kid," said one of them in an animated voice, "Gimme yer' wallet an' we'll see ab' lettin' ya go."
It took all his self-control for Harry to keep himself from cursing the Muggle thugs into oblivion. Maintaining his silence, he tried to think of a way he could escape with his meager belongings intact. Using magic was not an option since it would give his location away to the Ministry. He had used magic without being tracked in Diagon Alley, but that was because the Ministry didn't have magic-detection wards in wizarding places.
While he was still thinking of a plan, the man to his left reached out to grab his knapsack. Involuntarily Harry held up his hand to stop the man, and to his surprise was met with a sudden shriek of pain. Even in the dim light, Harry could make out black burnt marks were he had touched the man's arm. Quick as lightning, he reached behind his back and tightly gripped the hands holding his collar. The man behind bellowed in agony, while the others were too stunned to react.
Grabbing the opportunity, Harry ran from the scene as fast as his tired feet could carry him. For what felt like ten minutes, he kept running, before he finally stopped to catch his breath. Straining his hears for any sound of pursuers, he looked around to find that was in a deserted alley between rows of old buildings. Just when he started to wonder if he was lost, he heard a flutter that was coming from somewhere above.
He was just about to make a run for it, before his eyes caught the snowy source.
"Hedwig?"
His hopes soared when he noticed that Hedwig was carrying a letter tied to one of its legs. Must be from Dumbledore, he thought, suddenly finding the idea of meeting his friends very appealing. He ripped open the envelope addressed to him, heart beating in anticipation. But the letter wasn't what he had expected - it was completely blank.
Maybe it was under some script-hiding charm, he thought, remembering the Marauder's Map. He would probably have to reverse the charm to be able to read the letter. But he couldn't use magic, could he?
For a few minutes, he just stood staring at the letter, before suddenly it all clicked into place. Dumbledore, or any of his friends, wouldn't have sent an owl to him - owls could be intercepted or tracked. That left the Ministry and the Death Eaters, both of whom could have easily intercepted Hedwig when he had sent her to Dumbledore. That also explained why the letter was blank - it was only meant to find his location. Which meant that they were already on his trail... and he had lost precious minutes staring at the letter...
He had to get away from the place now, but he had to do something about Hedwig first.
"Listen, Hedwig! Keep out of sight and go to Dumbledore. Do you understand?"
The owl simply stared back at him for a few moments, before giving a hoot that sounded like a reluctant "OK". Then she extended her snow-white wings and flapped away out of sight.
Harry was worried about her - she was his first and only pet. But now wasn't the time to worry about Hedwig's safety. Aurors or Death Eaters would be popping-up any moment, and though he would have preferred the former, he didn't like the idea of meeting either. Consequently, there was only one thing left to do, and he did just that. He ran.
* * *
"Ron! RON! Wake up, you sleepy head!"
Before he knew, he was being hit repeatedly on the head with some hard object. Resisting the urge to strangle his assailant - Ginny, no doubt - then and there, he opened his eyes, but had to shut them back again due to the brightness.
"Morning already?" he asked.
"You are truly pathetic, Ronald Arthur Weasley. You are in the library and not in your bed." This wasn't Ginny. No, it sounded more like Hermione.
His suspicions were confirmed when he finally opened his eyes to see both his sister and his best friend scowling at him. Before him a comic book lay open - about the adventures of some 'Mad Muggle'. That would explain why he had been dreaming of himself riding a hippogriff in full cowboy gear through the deserted plains of Sahara. But he sobered up when he remembered the reason why he had been library in the first place.
"Well? Did you find the charm?" he asked again, acting as if the napping episode had not taken place at all.
"Yes! And that was hours ago. Hermione's going to try it now, so we thought we'd wake you up before you decided to spend the night here."
To Ron's surprise, it was evening already. Evidently he had slept all through afternoon.
"Are you sure you can do it? I mean it could go wrong... if its such a complex one."
"I'll try... I am willing to take the risk for Harry," answered Hermione.
"What if it turns out like the Polyjuice potion?" he blurted out. Wrong thing to say, he realized, at the glare that he received in return.
"Would you like to do it, Ron?" asked Ginny.
That was out of the question. "OK I get it, you two! So what result are we exactly trying to get here?"
In reply, Hermione showed him a blank parchment. "I am going to cast the charm on this paper. If it works, it will automatically print Harry's current address. Then we could use it to track him down, since it will change itself to reflect the new address if he moves to..."
Before she could finish, they were interrupted by the librarian for the disturbance they were creating by their conversation. In a few minutes, they had returned their books, and headed outside. The lane was crowded, as the evening shopping rush had just picked up. They quickly made their way to corner table in Florean Fortercue's Ice Cream Parlor. Once they had ordered their cups, they decided to test the charm.
Pointing her wand at the parchment, Hermione recited an incantation - probably in Latin, Ron thought, but he could never be sure as he had never learned that language. When Hermione finally finished her chant, all the three of them looked expectantly at the paper, their ice-cream cups forgotten. But nothing seemed to happen - the paper was still as blank as ever.
"Guess it didn't work," said Ron dejectedly.
"Try it again. You must have said pronounced something incorrectly," said Ginny encouragingly to Hermione, who was looking extremely disappointed.
Hermione was just about to repeat the incantation, before a dot of black ink suddenly appeared on the paper. And it was moving, leaving a trail of black ink - as if some invisible quill was writing something on the parchment. Intrigued, the trio looked on as distinct letters appeared, forming into words -
Harry Potter,
...
A/N: I know that was cruel of me... Three different cliffies in one chapter! And to say the story has just begun... :-) Still, that gives you people quite a lot to rack your brains on. Stay tuned for the next chapter... And REVIEW please! Comments, suggestions, opinions, criticism... anything, but REVIEW!!!