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: Important announcement!! If you want to be notified by email when the next chapters are out, then just email me at the following address: arijit1985@yahoo.co.in
Dedicated wholeheartedly to all my reviewers, especially the ones who painstakingly review each and every chapter, and also the ones who write those really huge reviews - enough to put me in a good mood in one shot! (Keep 'em coming)
I guess I've picked up a bad habit of starting my chapters with flashbacks. Hopefully this one will be the last...
Harry Potter and The Sacred Alliance
Chapter 9
A gloomy silence lay over the ward, except for the the occasional thunder and the constant buzz of the rain pelting outside. But as the man lay awake in the only occupied bed of the hospital wing at Hogwarts, his thoughts resided in the memory of another stormy day... in a different time...
It was a new ray of sunshine in the darkness that had befallen their lives... Voldemort had unleashed his reign of terror all over Britain, and despite the relentless efforts of the Order, hope was giving away to despair. No family that dared to stand for the Light was spared... There was killing everywhere, the Dark Mark looming almost constantly over the skies of Britain, and it was widely believed that the Mark would soon reach other European skies too.
With each passing day, the ranks of the Dark side increased and panic gripped the rest. Children were pulled out of school... Scores of Muggle-borns left the wizarding world for good... Trade and economy plummeted, bringing poverty to the wizarding masses. And the Ministry was acting more like an unquestioning puppet of Voldemort than a democratic institution of governance. But they wouldn't give up... As long as Dumbledore led the Light side, they still had hope left. It was all they toiled on endlessly for - in search for that elusive light at the end of the tunnel...
And yet, the gloom was at the back of Remus' mind that day, to be replaced by joy - something he hadn't felt for quite a long time, as he made his way through the narrow lane to the ancient manor, shielding himself from the rain-water with his cloak. He would have preferred to apparate directly to the Potter residence, but James and Lily had recently, under the recommendation of Dumbledore after the latest attempt on their lives, set up apparition-wards around the manor.
A sudden pop to his left alerted his senses, and he was almost taken aback on witnessing a large black dog appearing out of thin air. Almost, because he immediately knew it was Sirius, whom he hadn't seen in a couple of months. Only Sirius would dare to apparate in his Animagus form - unregistered, no less. The dog was currently barking happily as it made a dash for Remus, hitting him with a force that tumbled him backwards.
"Geroff Padfoot... get off now!!" he screamed at the dog, who was licking his face as if there was no tomorrow. 'Probably there isn't', a despondent voice said in his head, before being silenced forcibly.
"Its great to see you, Moony! Still enjoying your monthly midnight misadventures?" Sirius said, after he had finally transformed. Nothing - not even war - could change Sirius' anything-but-serious attitude to towards life, Remus mused. How wrong he had been.
"You too, Padfoot," he replied, with a mock expression of sternness, "You know what? Apparating in that dog form of yours is gonna hurt you real bad someday..."
"Hey c'mon Moony, don't you start like Lily now. As if Prongs supporting her at every instance isn't enough! If I didn't know better, I'd say that she's got him under a love spell."
"Yeah, yeah... Who could have guessed that the fiercest inter-house rivals would turn into die-hard lovebirds, marry and have a kid before you could spell 'Marauder'?"
"But you've got to admit that Prongs did have a bad crush on her..."
And so they continued, recollecting their care-free and 'innocent' adventures at school, as they entered the manor, greeted by 'Butler' the Potter family house-elf. Both of them carefully skirted any topics in relation to the ongoing war in their conversation, since this was not a time for such discussions - it was time for celebration, for hope that they would survive this darkness and make their dreams come true. Indeed they had taken a day off to do just that. For they had just learned that they were blessed with a niece or a nephew - Lily Potter would be giving birth to a new life in less than eight months.
However, when Remus finally spotted Lily, he was puzzled to see her walking dejectedly towards them, with a forced smile on her lips. He had expected a new spring in her steps, like she always did when announcing some new achievement - like scoring top marks in some subject or being appointed as the Head Girl. Her usually sparkling green eyes seemed as if she had been crying, as she half-heartedly greeted both of them.
"What's the matter, Lil?" asked Sirius, whose grin had evaporated on noticing her.
She remained silent, but the expression of anger in her eyes plainly indicated that she and James had been having one of their arguments - which had been quite rare ever since they became a couple at Hogwarts. Although Remus felt wary of invading his best friends' privacy, Sirius found no fault in pressing after her to spill out the subject of their argument, until they finally learnt that James didn't like the idea of having a baby in the circumstances that their world was in.
Promising Lily that he would hammer some sense into that 'thick skull' that James had, Sirius rushed to the bedroom where the man had shut himself off, while Remus simply followed. A few minutes later they found James brooding in an armchair in a corner, who stood up facing them the moment he heard their footsteps.
"Oh hello... Padfoot, Moony." This was not like the usual James at all.
"Who are you, and where have you hidden our best friend Prongs?" asked Sirius, trying to lighten the mood.
"Look Sirius, I don't have time for jokes... Could we please meet later?"
"James, we are not joking," said Remus, closing the door to the bedroom behind him. "Lily and you are having a baby - you should be jumping for joy like the rest of us, not sulking away like you're doing right now."
"Oh yeah? Well I think I told you both to leave."
"No you look, James! We aren't leaving until you tell us what's worrying you," said Sirius, adopting a serious tone this time. On simply receiving a silent treatment, he pressed on. "Come on Prongs, for Merlin's sake, what's the problem? Isn't this what you wanted, what you always dreamed of?"
"I did..." James hesitated, before continuing, "But - I didn't expect this... You know Voldemort's after us! How are we going to raise a baby with the Dark side at our throats? What if something happens to me or Li... Dammit! I shouldn't have married Lily now, putting her life in danger!"
"I thought we had this discussion before, Prongs. What makes you think that your marrying Lily put her in any more danger than she already was before? She's as powerful as you or any of us, and you know that. And then she's Muggle-born - prime target of the Death Eaters. If you ask me, your marriage makes you both safer!" Sirius retaliated.
"No, you don't get it!" James exclaimed. "The Order's bound to need me, and face it - it's not the securest of jobs! Look at what happened to the Bones... the McKinnons... What if something happens to me? Who'll look after Lily and the baby?" He was literally screaming at the top of his voice now, and put his face in his hands when he had finished.
It took a while before Sirius and Remus were able to calm James down. But Remus would always remember the promise he and Sirius had made to James that day - they, along with Peter, being no less than brothers to him, would consider James' new family as their own, should anything happen to him or Lily. After all that was what best friends were for.
His heart pained at the memories, pained at how fate had played with their lives. Yes, the times had been bad, probably even worse than now. But they had dreams... they had hopes... and most importantly they had each other - young and inexperienced though they were. And here he was, seventeen years later, lying alone and hopeless, shunned by the whole world - no one in the world whom he could call his anymore...
Remus had failed James... he had failed Sirius... he had failed everyone. Harry Potter was dead, and he hadn't been able to do anything about it. There was nothing left he could do to relive the heartburn, to make his conscience forgive himself. He couldn't take the war anymore... he had lost too much in it.
Even after Sirius had left them, he had not relented - he still had Harry, and he would give his life to make James' dreams of his son come true. And yet here he was alive, nothing left to hope for, while Harry had left him too. He hadn't been there for Harry. And the rest of the Order had been too late.
A tug at his mind awoke him from his semi-conscious state. Dumbledore was beckoning him to his office. Getting up unsteadily - since the illness that he had caught after his forced transformation had not completely subsided yet, he headed for the headmaster's office through the deserted corridors and marble staircases of the ancient building that had once been his home.
Reaching the stone gargoyle at the center of an empty corridor, he didn't have to wait more than a few seconds, before a hidden door slid open behind the statue. Stepping on the spiral staircase, his mind raced through different possibilities why Dumbledore would need him despite the fact that he had not fully recovered yet.
"Come in Remus, I've been expecting you," said Dumbledore taking his eyes off the circular window, when Remus had finally entered the office.
Keeping silent was the best option, if he didn't want to give away his plans of leaving the wizarding world on a self-imposed exile. Probably Dumbledore had already sensed it with his Legilimency powers, he thought dejectedly.
"Depression, you must know, does more harm than good."
"And who gave you the right to judge my emotions, Dumbledore?" he retorted, his temper flaring. "Nor can you change my decisions."
"I am not under the impression that I can. But there is something else that, I believe, can."
Remus had never felt such rage against this man before - despite being the most powerful wizard in the century, Dumbledore had failed to save Sirius, and now he had failed to protect Harry. It was under Dumbledore's orders that Remus hadn't gone after Harry. Only if he had, he could have prevented the now-irreversible incident.
"Remus, I perceive the fact that I'm wholly and inexcusably responsible for your loss... and I rightly deserve your anger," Dumbledore said, his old age showing through his voice. "But it is imperative that you know the truth before you make your decision."
"You have one chance, no more," Remus responded after much internal debate.
"Before I disclose this information, you must know that I have complete trust on you, Remus, which is akin to my rarely flawed trust on our other associates. And yet I have decided, after a lot of discussion with the concerned individual - and pleading on his part, to share this information with you and you alone, other than Severus. No one, not even the members of the Order are to learn of this." He paused for the sake of comprehension, though it wasn't needed. "And I expect you to be part of this mission - though you must understand my obligation to use a Memory Charm on you if you decline, but I highly doubt that will be necessary."
Curiosity got the better of his temper, as Remus nodded impatiently, trying to guess the possible nature of this secret information. But no reply came from Dumbledore, except for a slight smile and a nod. Instead a ruffling noise emerged from somewhere near the circular window opposite to Dumbledore. And what he saw made Remus seriously doubt his eyesight. Two delightfully emerald eyes were staring at him through round glasses, the characteristic scar and unruly hair unmistakable. As the rest of the Invisibility Cloak was taken off, Harry Potter stood smiling at him as Remus looked on bewildered.
* * *
Chaos reigned on the narrow lane, as scores of underage witches and wizards - some with their parents, and the others alone - thronged through Diagon Alley, determined to complete their last minute shopping for school before the vendors closed for lunch. The kaleidoscopic atmosphere brought about by the variety of robes, books, cauldrons, wands, pets, brooms, and, needless to mention, the young clientele - both of Muggle and wizarding origin and in corresponding attire - could be only matched to the equally rampant shopping spree before Christmas.
And yet the climate, though full of excitement and wonder, seemed subdued - in a slight but recognizable manner. Either that or her inner gloom was distorting her senses, Hermione concluded, as an assortment of growls, meows, hoots, screeches, croaks and hisses emerging from 'Magical Menagerie' threatened to render permanent damage to her hearing.
Cutting through the chaotically moving crowds, she made her way to the Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, ignoring the meaningful glances that were occasionally directed her, though it hurt - even after a month the hurt was still unbearable. But she moved on, frequently brushing her untamed brown hair from the sides of her face, which still bore indistinguishable signs of tears that had been silently shed over memories of shopping here with a certain emerald-eyed friend. The twins were there, animatedly conversing with their wide-eyed customers.
"Fred! George!" she called, catching their attention and causing them to drop their forced cheerfulness for a fleeting moment, as Fred beckoned her to meet him at the back.
"George and me spent the better part of last month perfecting them... fifty pieces as you asked." said Fred, handing her a blue colored sack, when she had slipped in though the back door.
She pulled out a silver badge from the sack, examining it minutely. The letters 'S.P.E.W.' were carved in bold across the front, their black color in sharp contrast to the silver background. But welfare of house-elves was the last thing the badges would be used for.
"They've got everything you asked for," Fred said, "A sort of two-way communication - you speak into one of them and the people wearing the other badges will hear you." He then proceeded to demonstrate it to her, before continuing, "Then there are locator charms which give you a vague idea of the location of the wearer who's speaking. Last but not least, the badges become invisible when touched with the tip of the wand."
"It's great Fred!" she said, trying to produce a cheerful voice, when she had finished examining a few badges.
"And we also added a feature of our own - the magic meter - the color of the letters 'S.P.E.W.' reflects the DADA skill of a person. The colors belong to the rainbow - red on one hand indicates a very high level of skill, while violet indicates the opposite. Needless to say, on a squib or a Muggle, the letters are simply black, as they are now."
"By the way", added George, who had just joined them, "it glows yellow on us... not bad, eh? Hope you like them."
"Wow! I don't believe I could do all that myself!" she exclaimed, her chocolate brown eyes lighting up with delight, though the shadow returned after a fraction of a second. "Of course I like them. Someday you two could give Professor Flitwick a run for his position at Hogwarts", she added, laughing for the first time in the past few weeks.
"Was that supposed to be an insult?" said Fred, screwing up his face. Evidently anything to do with the teaching profession would be high in their most-hated list.
"So... how's little Ronniekins holding up?" asked George, failing to hide the concern in his teasing voice. Ron had been avoiding them all through the past month.
"He's actually started coming down for meals, but other than that he hasn't talked much to me or Ginny ever since..." her voice trailed off, as she blinked her eyes, breathing deeply.
She had been totally wrong about Ron's ability to 'take' the situation. Indeed sleeping was the only part of his daily life which hadn't changed. Still he was better off than her, she thought inwardly - even her sleep was brutally interspaced with nightmares of the incident.
"Neither us... Probably blaming it all on himself..." said Fred, "Anyway, c'mon George, we have to get back to the public or they'll break in if we keep them waiting for long!"
"OK, see ya later, Hermione."
Both of them were returning back to the customers, when Hermione suddenly remembered something.
"Hey, wait! How much do these cost? I didn't pay..."
"Forget it, Hermione! Just remember that we're just repaying what we owed to a close friend of yours," one of them shouted back, before they disappeared behind the door.
Considering that there was no point arguing with them, she simply exited the shop and headed right, recalling Fred's words, "Probably blaming all it on himself". Don't we all, a small voice questioned in her head, as she passed a crowd surrounding the latest Firebolt 2 Pro displayed in a glass case at the entrance of Quality Quidditch Supplies, her eyes subconsciously searching for any sign of some unruly jet-black hair.
There had been so many chances where they could have done something - preventing Harry from running away, tracking him before the attack, or remembering that he was under the Invisibility Cloak when they were searching for him. A difference of one minute and he would be alive. And yet she couldn't accept, as a lone tear trickled down her cheek, that he was no more - even though she had seen herself... touched his cold, lifeless hands...
Harry had been the one constant in her life - he was her first true friend, and if it hadn't been for him, she and Ron would never have been good friends... Harry had always been central in the trio's friendship, except for the short bout of enmity between him and Ron in their fourth year. It was Harry who had changed her - directly or indirectly - from the bossy unfriendly know-it-all she had been before she entered Hogwarts, to what she was today.
Ron did not talk to her - or for that matter anyone else - anymore. She did have Ginny, but they would never be close friends since they simply did not share the same wavelength. She desperately wanted Harry back... But who was she to deserve him, when she had herself been unable to help in his time of need?
Sighing deeply, she wiped away the tears, as she entered The Leaky Cauldron, making her way to the fireplace. Weakness did not befit the leader of the DA; she would have to be strong herself if she was to succeed in training the members to be fearless in front of danger, whom she would be meeting in a few minutes at the S.P.E.W. Headquarters, as it was known to the outside world. But to its members, who would be holding their first meeting before term started, it was the H-DAC or the Covert Headquarters of Dumbledore's Army.
* * *
The sky had taken a dark bluish shade of gray - reflecting the gloominess and lifelessness of the graveyard under it. A lone woman disturbed the still air as she made to leave the final resting place, taking a parting look at the marble stone in front of which she had been kneeling.
Julian Clayworth
(December 5, 1951 - November 1, 1981)
Her husband. It had been nearly fifteen years since he was killed along with eleven others in a massive gas explosion blowing up a whole street a few blocks from their home, depriving their only son of his father at the tender age of one. However, Mrs. Clayworth hadn't come here for mourning; instead she had come to get an inkling of the strength that she would have if he were alive - she needed it to survive the terrible ordeal she and their son were going though.
Sixteen year old Eric Clayworth had been diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia - or in layman's terms, blood cancer - two years ago. After an expensive chemotherapy treatment that lasted for nearly a year, he had been discharged, only to relapse in 3 months. Chemotherapy could no longer help him - what he had needed was a bone marrow transplant. In spite of extensive hardships that his mother had to undertake in order to raise the funds, they had gone on with the transplant - which had to be self-originating due to the absence of a sibling.
For a few months, everything seemed back to normal, as Eric resumed his studies at school. But only a few weeks ago he had again fallen back into a severe relapse, the final blow delivered when the doctors announced that treatment was no longer viable. Helpless and hopeless, he had been discharged from hospital, as Mrs. Clayworth held on to faith that he would somehow get well - but even that was slowly ebbing away.
The uneventful walk to her 1-BHK flat ended soon, since she skipped her regular visit to the church today - now it seemed that whoever was up there was bent on tearing her and her son's lives to pieces. Besides, she was desperate to spend the last moments of her son's life with him, as she took the lift to the third floor.
A man in strange shabby clothes, waiting in front of her apartment, caught her attention. A hood covered his head, which he lowered immediately on seeing her, revealing a scarcely shaved face with slightly graying brown hair. But the hair was in sharp contrast to the rest of his features, which showed him to be less than forty - though the wrinkles on his face indicated that he had gone through far more than normal men of his age.
Yet his appearance did nothing to assuage her suspicions.
"Quirrel," he said, in a voice that confirmed her estimate of his age, "I gather you're Mrs. Clayworth?"
Declining his offer of a hand-shake, she said coldly, "I'm afraid I don't know you."
"Neither did I until today.But that's hardly relevant to the purpose of my presence here."
"And that would be?" she continued in her cold but slightly wavering voice, clutching her purse tightly.
He smiled lightly but reassuringly, and though it could be fake, the goodwill in it calmed her to some extent. "Your son... His illness to be precise. I have the means to cure it."
A moment of disbelief and skepticism passed, but there was a sincerity in the man's voice which she could not ignore. "And why should I believe you, mister? I don't know why I'm even speaking to you... The question of cure doesn't arise..."
"I am aware, Mrs. Clayworth, that your son suffers from cancer and no Mug... scientific methods exist that can save him. Yet we - the people with me - do have the cure to the disease."
A small hope rose in her heart, which she squashed immediately. "I can't trust you", she said, keeping her tone straight, "As far as I know, you're one of those freaks promising a cure for a large sum, just to disappear with the advance payment."
"We don't want your money," he replied, his blue eyes asking for her trust. Instead of elaborating, he simply handed her a roll of thick cream-colored paper with handwritten letters in green ink.
Mrs. Clayworth,
I do not wish to alarm you, but we, whose identity I prefer not to disclose, do have the cure for your son's ailment. Mr. Quirrel, as our agent has introduced himself to you, has in his possession the magical potion, as you might like to call it, which eradicates cancerous cells from a person's body. Once this potion is taken, a person is immune to the disease for the rest of his life.
We, as a community, do not generally help the general public with our potions. However, we wish to help you since we require a favor in return. Provided that you accept our suggestion and your son is cured of his ailment, your son must donate exactly three strands of his hair on the first day of every month for two years at the most, starting with the first of September i.e. the day after tomorrow. Mr. Quirrel will personally come to your door-step at 6 AM to collect the strands on the first of every month until July 1998 or earlier if we do not need them anymore.
I understand that trusting us will be very difficult for you, especially since our treatment lacks any explanation that can satisfy your medical science. Hence, even though we are running short of time, we shall give you a night for making your choice whether or not to enter into this agreement with us. Mr. Quirrel will be arriving at your flat tomorrow morning at 6 AM to know of your decision, and administer the medicine if you agree.
I would like to assure you - and you will discover yourself - that the medicine takes effect in less than a day, and you may ask Mr. Quirrel to drink some of it himself to rest your concerns about its safety. You may decline our offer, but in that case you will have no memory of this meeting whatsoever. But if you choose to accept, it is of prime importance that you or your son do not voluntarily disclose any part of our agreement to anyone else.
May God bless you!
Yours sincerely,
(Identity withheld)
* * *
The dancing flames in the fireplace lit up the headmaster's office like daylight, as the two figures were engaged in formulating their further plan of action.
"Isn't there some other way?" Remus had just returned from his meeting with Mrs. Clayworth, and though he had put up a good act of calmness in front of her, he did not find the plan very appealing.
"This is our best option," replied Dumbledore, "even if you find our methods similar to those of the Dark side. We have given the mother a choice, though I daresay she will not let go of this chance for her son to live. But if she declines, our task in changing Harry's features will be much more difficult. Modifying a normal wizard's outward appearance is almost impossible, except for a Metamorphmagus, of course, which Harry certainly is not."
"But the Fidelius assures..."
"The Fidelius charm", Dumbledore interrupted coolly, "is not secure when performed on a human being. Although I do have absolute faith in you keeping the secret, the secret-keeper need not disclose a person's identity directly to somebody for the latter to know. Suppose, for instance, a friend or teacher close to Harry finds out about his true identity and then is questioned under a truth potion. The questioner will know, without our knowledge, who Harry is impersonating as, and consequently can harm him easily. Hence Harry's disguise must be strong enough not to give him away to those close to him.
"Moreover, if Harry's disguise even remotely hints of his true appearance, the Fidelius charm will make him invisible to all except those who have been informed of his identity by you. And there's a third catch with the charm too, which I haven't informed Harry of. True love - and you know what kind I mean - can see through the Fidelius, but it won't see through the disguise."
A/N: That's it for now... I know (or at least hope) you'll be back for more, so stay tuned... We will finally have Harry's POV in the next chapter.
I was contemplating whether I should write a review-poem this time to encourage you readers to review, but in light of my truly wonderful (sarcasm implied) poetry skills, I decided to spare everyone the trouble.'Cause I have faith that you'll review anyway! ;) And just to set your brain gears in motion, there is an interesting piece of fact about the Clayworths hinted in this chapter. Let's see which intelligent ones among you can figure it out!