Rising of the Dark

HARRY POTTER AND THE RISING OF THE DARK

by Meta4. Chapter 10.

The Eleven (Elven?) Commandments

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1. Thou shalt bow to J.K. Rowling, creator of the Potterverse!

2. Thou shalt acknowledge all characters created by Her.

3. Thou shalt acknowledge the trademarks of Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc.

4. Thou shalt not read the story herein if Slash offendeth you.

5. Thou shalt not read this story if thou art not old enough so to do.

6. Thou shalt not pass the work herein as thine own.

7. Thou shalt not gain profit from distributing the work herein.

8. Respect thy mother and thy father - only read this work when they are out.

9. Thou shalt acknowledge My copyright

10. Thou shalt contact Me if thou likest or thou detesteth this work.

11. Thou shalt never piss off an Elf...

HARRY POTTER AND THE RISING OF THE DARK

by Meta4 meta4@meta4.org

CHAPTER TEN:: The Dark Is Rising.

We walked in silence from Gringotts to the Three Broomsticks. Harry walked shoulder to shoulder with me, looking very concerned himself while Monty also just trotted along placidly by my heel.

We entered the Three Broomsticks and, although it appeared rather dark and dingy inside, we were greeted with a warm smile by the barmaid, who I later learned was called Madam Rosmerta.

Remembering the rather shocked look on everyone's faces as to the amount of money that had been dealt with at Gringotts, I felt it only fair that I buy the round. I fished out a couple of galleons from my pocket and handed them to Madam Rosmerta.

"Whatever anyone wants," I offered. "Got anything serious?" I asked her.

"Well, fire-whisky, but I don't think that I should serve..."

"Double, please," I glared at her.

She decided not to argue and poured me the shots of whiskey.

Harry quietly ordered three butterbeers and led us over to a secluded table in the corner by the window, Harry and myself taking the bench seat beneath the windowsill, Ron and Hermione opposite us. Monty leaped in between Harry and myself, dolefully resting his head on my thigh.

After taking a sip of his butterbeer, Ron broke the silence. "So, uh, Liam... How did you... umm... become so... uh..."

I took a sip of my fire-whisky. That stuff certainly lived up to its name, but I wasn't in the mood for theatrics.

"Long story short, my Dad throws me money to keep out of his way and not get into trouble. He did tell me once, though, that if I ever found shit-loads of money in my account I should shift it immediately as he was probably... uh..." I took another sip of whiskey. "Dead."

Ron snorted the head off his butterbeer. Hermione blanched quite visibly while Harry just seemed to get a rather gritted, determined look about him.

"I'm sorry, but I've got to go and find out what happened to him."

"We'll come with you," volunteered Harry immediately. Ron nodded in earnest while Hermione frowned.

"Do you think McGonagall will let us go with him?" she asked.

"Of course she won't," chided Ron. "That's why we're not going to tell her."

"We can't just leave! I mean, what if something happened?"

"Hermione, something HAS happened," countered Harry. "Whatever happens, I'm going with you," he said, looking straight at me. I smiled weakly back, and felt rather annoyed that I couldn't communicate how grateful I was to have him supporting me at that time. The brief smile that flashed across his face just went to prove that he already knew me too well and knew what I was thinking.

"Well, I'm up for it," said Ron. "Herm?"

"I..." she looked round at the others and sighed. "I'm not really allowed to say 'no', am I?"

The other two lads shook their heads.

"When are we leaving then?"

"No time like the present, eh?" said Ron.

We all drank up, myself feeling a little numb after the fire-whisky, and made our way back to the castle. Just as we were about to climb through the portrait hole back into Gryffindor tower, Professor McGonagall called after us.

"Ahh, Mr. Blackdon, I wonder if I might borrow you for a moment?"

I looked round at the others, who returned an unknowing glance. Ron and Hermione went inside, and I instructed Monty to do so as well. He did, but only after looking rather annoyed that he wasn't allowed to stay with me.

Harry, on the other hand, turned and followed me back down the corridor to where Professor McGonagall was stood.

"I'm afraid boys that Bob has been called away rather urgently so you'll be resuming an ordinary timetable from now on. However, he did say that you, Liam, might be able to shed a little light on this,"

McGonagall produced a sheet of folded parchment and handed it to me to read.

As I took it, something felt... I dunno, 'un-right' about the letter, but I was damned if I could figure out what. I began to read.

"Dear Minerva,

"I am afraid that I have been unavoidably delayed in London on other business. This matter is rather important, so I should like you very much to pass on my sincerest apologies to Mr. Fudge and the other Ministry members for my absence. Unfortunately, I am unable to elaborate more at this time and the snowfall here in London is quite severe. However I shall, no doubt, fill you in on my return to Hogwarts.

"Fondest regards,

" Albus Dumbledore."

"What do you want me to do with this?"

"Bob assures me that you have a talent for perceiving Aka Threads."

"Aka who?"

"The Law of Contagion," she frowned, becoming slightly annoyed with my ignorance.

"I'm sorry, Professor, I don't quite follow..."

"Perhaps you don't know the proper nomenclature - you can see the history of an object, who touched it and such."

Immediately the not-quite-right aspect of the letter presented itself to me.

"Yeah, I reckon so."

"What can you tell me about this letter?"

"Why?"

McGonagall was obviously a little annoyed at my curiosity, answering with a slightly sharp edge to her voice.

"I can't say too much, but I have reason to believe that this wasn't sent by Professor Dumbledore. Everything the letter says is true: The charms we have tried show no falsity, but somehow it doesn't feel like Dumbledore writing."

Now that she'd nudged me in the right direction, I felt immediately that I could confirm her suspicions. Superficially the letter appeared fine, however the aura it was emitting seemed rather strange - almost obscure. The more I tried to see its history, the more I was led on a wild goose chase of random images, all of which described something, but none of which made sense.

"Professor, would Professor Dumbledore have a reason to try and disguise where this letter came from?"

"I don't believe so, no,"

"Then something very odd has certainly happened. I can tell the letter was delivered from an address in London, but before that everything seems very jumbled and out of order. If I try and look at an event or something, I can see something totally unrelated to what I want to see. It's as if someone doesn't want me seeing where this letter really came from."

"Thank you, Liam," said McGonagall, pulling the letter from my hands. Her pursed lips showed that my insight had resigned her to a rather unpleasant idea. "I may have to call upon you again soon,"

I nodded and smiled back cordially. Without warning, Harry, who'd been stood beside me while I examined the letter, let out a stomach-churning groan and fell heavily against me, catching me quite off-balance. We both crashed onto the hard, stone floor, myself just managing to cushion Harry's head from a direct impact. He was out cold.

McGonagall stooped down by us, concern written across her deeply furrowed brow.

"Are you boys all right?"

"I'm fine, Professor, but Harry... I think he's feinted."

I was shaking, more through shock than anything else. Harry's breathing was shallow but regular, his eyes darting around under his eyelids.

"Liam, help me get him to the Hospital Wing - this isn't the first time this has happened."

It was a full hour before Harry began to stir. Never in my life had I sat beside someone's bed feeling so concerned for their safety and wellbeing. As he lay there, dead to the world, he looked extremely calm - the omnipresent appearance of mild concern for once absent from his handsome face. I found it quite disturbing that only in involuntary unconsciousness could he really find peace.

Madam Pomfrey annoyed me somewhat by looking altogether unconcerned by Harry's condition, and my vindictive side was quite pleased when Ron and Hermione burst into the hospital wing rather noisily, causing her to snap at us all.

After relating what had happened to them, we all ended up just sat, staring at him. I took his right hand in mine and squeezed it gently. After a couple of moments, to my joy and relief, he suddenly squeezed back. I looked up at his face to find a pair of green eyes and a weak smile beaming back at me.

"Are you OK?"

He nodded back. "It was my scar - it began to hurt so badly I couldn't stand it."

"What does that mean? I mean what normally causes it to do that?"

"Voldemort," sighed Harry. He shuffled up the bed slightly so he was more sitting than lying. I jumped up and grabbed another pillow from the adjacent bed to put behind his head and he smiled gratefully at me. "Whenever he's close, my scar really burns, but somehow this was different. It was a whole lot more intense. I mean, normally it starts to itch, then tingle and gets worse from there, but this was instant - like someone had just flicked a switch..."

"Any idea why it was so different this time?" asked Ron.

"No... It was just so intense, and I felt... I dunno - there was something very wrong."

I looked at Harry's scar, the intense green glow it emitted now stronger than I had ever seen it. I began to move my hand towards it, but Harry stopped me.

"Are you sure you want to do that again?"

"I think so: I'm kinda getting used to it," I smiled.

Harry nodded and let go of my hand, allowing me to move it to his forehead. As my fingers approached his scar, I could feel the energy flowing around it. It felt rather like a pair of magnets as you bring them together: The closer they are, the stronger the pull until they snap together. Deciding that if I didn't do it now I'd loose my nerve, I allowed my fingertips to come into direct contact with his skin.

The jolt of emotion as I touched him still shocked me, but I managed to retain enough composure to control my own feelings. I flicked through the library of memories that seemed to be caught up in this very simple-looking scar, suddenly realising that the death of Harry's parents was just the start of it's journal.

Figuring that the cause of Harry's overwhelming reaction would be at the end of the record, I looked forward through time until I reached an hour before now. I could make out a dimly lit room, in which was placed a chair. I strained my mind's eye to resolve more detail and, gently, the finer points of the image became apparent to me.

There was a figure in the chair, its face covered by a large, wispy white beard that seemed to diffuse the deep orange glow of the gas lamps that illuminated the scene. My mouth dried as I came across an intensely worrying realisation. The man in the chair was...

"Dumbledore," I whispered.

Hermione, Ron and Harry audibly gasped.

"He's sat in a chair next to a fireplace... He's talking to someone..."

"Who?" asked Hermione.

"It looks as if he's talking to me, but he can't be..."

A much brighter shaft of light suddenly illuminated the scene. A split second later, there was a sickening flash of green light accompanied by a very real sensation of pain, causing me to cry out. I saw the chair, complete with its occupant, go flying away from the light. Just before my fingers lost contact with Harry's scar, I caught a glimpse of another smaller figure dash in from the direction of the light.

"Colin," I breathed, before nearly passing out myself.

==========

Draco Malfoy found it most irregular that his Father should call him away from school. What's more, he wasn't even returning to Malfoy Manor, rather than to the home of some obscure relative and, just to put the icing on the cake, his Father couldn't be arsed to speak to him personally, rather he just instruct his Housemaster to relay the message.

He frowned as the carriage in which he was sat rumbled rather quietly over the snow-covered roads of Surrey. He leaned forward in his seat and wiped off some of the condensation from the window with the sleeve of his robes. He couldn't believe the snow had reached this far south and thought that, if anything, the snow was deeper here than in the Scottish Highlands. Indeed, the drifts now ensured that one could only spot the hedgerows as gentle undulations in the vast snowscape rather than the abrupt divisions they should have been.

He sank back into his seat and pulled his cloak tighter round him. It really was bitterly cold, and he hoped that they were not too much further from his destination.

==========

The short trek from the Stanton's driveway to Mrs. Pettigrew's ordinarily took under a minute, but today was anything but ordinary. Aside from the obvious impediment of the snow to the act of walking, it also proved to be an inexhaustible supply of ammunition for the two Stanton brothers. By the time they reached Mrs. Pettigrew's drive, Jim and Will were both covered from head to toe in snowball shrapnel.

They found Mrs. Pettigrew shovelling incessantly at the snowdrift that had all but blocked the entrance to her driveway. The tiny old lady seemed dwarfed by everything, from the extremely home-made woollen hat she was wearing to the shovel she was trying to use.

"Hello Mrs. Pettigrew!" shouted Jim.

"Who's that?" she asked, turning away from them and peering back at her house.

"Err, over here, Mrs. Pettigrew," shouted Will again. She spun round once more to face them.

"My word!" she exclaimed. "Messrs Stanton and Stanton," she warbled. "I haven't seen you in ages! My how you've both grown!"

"How are you, Mrs. Pettigrew?" asked Jim, clambering through the snow drift, Will quite literally following in his tracks.

"I'm fine, dear, fine," she crooned in her trademark sing-song voice. "but this weather ain't half playing up my old bones. I'm having my grand-nephew-in-law-twice-removed-on-my-great-great-grandfather's side - or something like that anyway - this Christmas so I thought I'd at least better try and make the place look at least a little bit respectable," she said, attacking the snow drift once again with renewed vigour.

"Could you use a couple of extra pairs of hands?" Will offered, looking rather concerned at the way she was exerting herself. He was actually quite amazed she could even lift the shovel she was using, let alone move snow with it.

"Well that would be absolutely marvellous," she beamed. "Are you sure you don't mind? I'm quite alright to carry on here by myself..."

Jim took the shovel from her and smiled. "We wouldn't hear of it, Mrs. Pettigrew."

"Oh, that's so good of you two," she beamed. "Will, if you want there's another shovel in the shed in the back garden. I'll go and put the kettle on!"

Jim smiled, amused at the way Mrs. Pettigrew seemed to almost hop along rather than walk. "If I'm half as light on my feet as she is when I'm her age I'll be a happy man," he chuckled to Will.

"How old do you reckon she is?"

"I dunno, actually," replied Jim, taking huge shovelfuls of snow and hurling them a good ten feet away. "I mean, she was old when I was your age, so she must be positively ancient now! Anyway, go and get that other shovel - it'll take both of us to get this cleared in a reasonable time."

Fuelled by copious cups of herbal tea provided at regular intervals by Mrs. Pettigrew, Jim and Will made reasonably short work of the snowdrift that was blocking her driveway. Just as they were clearing the last few shovel-fulls, a sight struck them that caused all work to cease immediately. A large, black carriage drawn by a pair of equally dark mares rounded the corner at the bottom of Old Bakery Road.

The stunning contrast of the jet-black transport against the whiter-than-white snow caused both boys to simply stop and stare. The horses seemed extremely sure-footed, even in the rather deep snow that had built up since the snow plough had gone over the road the previous night, whilst the carriage's thin wheels cut through the same with graceful ease.

"Oh, here he is," smiled Mrs. Pettigrew, producing a large white handkerchief and waving it at the carriage. It slowed and came to a stop directly outside the driveway, the horses snorting and champing at the bit as if they were annoyed to have their stride interrupted.

The carriage door opened with a clunk and a rather thin, blond-haired boy stepped out into the snow and strode straight past Will and Jim without so much as a glance.

"Mrs. Pettigrew?" asked the boy, pulling off his leather gloves finger by finger.

"Oh Draco!" she gushed, and hugged him tightly round the waist. The boy tensed immediately, obviously not quite sure how to respond to such an outburst of emotion and simply waited for the embarrassment to end.

Eventually it did, allowing Draco Malfoy to turn and address the Stantons for the first time.

"Valet? Take my cases inside. And be careful - there are valuables in there that would not take kindly to rough handling."

Jim leaned towards Will and whispered in a stage whisper: "Pleasant little chap, ain't he?"

This of course caused Will to splutter back a laugh. The stern look on Malfoy's face quickly and (it appeared) effortlessly changed to one of extreme displeasure and disdain.

"Now look here," he started, striding towards Will and Jim. Jim drew a deep breath and straightened up slightly, underlining the fact that he was all of six-foot-two tall and built like the proverbial brick toilet, thanks to six years of Royal Navy training and service. Malfoy faltered.

"Draco," snapped Mrs. Pettigrew. "I wish you'd show a little more respect to my neighbours!"

Malfoy turned. "Your neighbours? I... I thought that as they were shovelling snow that..."

"You know full well I don't have the money to employ servants, unlike your own family. These two boys volunteered to help me clear my driveway out of the goodness of their own hearts - you could learn a thing or two from them. Now - I believe an apology is in order."

Draco's face had reddened, half in anger at being belittled in front of an audience of strangers, half in embarrassment. He wasn't particularly used to saying 'sorry', so it took him a while to actually formulate the sentence.

Eventually, an apology was spluttered out, much to the enjoyment of Jim. Will, however, was fascinated by the tall, thin, blond boy. Yes, he was presumptuous and extremely full of himself, but that just made him all the more curious.

"C'mon, then, Will - Dad'll wonder where we've got to. Thanks for the tea, Mrs. Pettigrew."

"Any time, boys. And don't be such strangers - I've got the same amount of snow again round the back of the house!" she quipped.

Jim turned and held a hand in the air in a parting wave, Will following behind him.

"So what about my trunk?" asked Draco incredulously.

"Well don't look at me," said Mrs. Pettigrew. "Strapping young lad like yourself shouldn't have any trouble moving his own luggage."

And with that, she toddled off back into the house leaving Draco stood on the drive next to the carriage.

He exhaled heavily and opened the luggage locker at the back of the carriage. Will, who'd been lagging behind Jim, turned to see Malfoy trying to man-handle one of his huge trunks and stopped completely. Jim turned to see why Will was dawdling.

"I'm sure you can make it home on your own, can't you William?" he asked in mock pomposity.

"I think I'll manage," grinned Will, and headed back towards Mrs. Pettigrew's.

Draco was having no luck whatsoever with his trunk.

"Need a hand?" offered Will, leaning up against the carriage's rear wheel.

Draco's head snapped up to meet Will's gaze with a penetrating stare, but he found it difficult to maintain when he noticed the boy's grey eyes. He swallowed the sharp dismissal he'd prepared and managed to muster a slight smile. "Thank you."

"Not a problem," smiled Will, sensing a slight shift in Draco's mood, and together they dragged the immensely heavy trunk out of the carriage.

As soon as the last article of baggage had been removed, the horses gave a whinny and trotted off down Old Bakery Road and disappeared round the corner. Only when they were out of sight did Will realise that they had had no driver.

While he found this more than a little curious, the logical side of his brain dictated that there must have been a driver and he simply didn't see him. Satisfied that this was the most reasonable answer, Will shrugged mentally and helped Draco shift the trunk into Mrs. Pettigrew's hallway.

Once inside, Will offered his hand to the boy. "I'm Will Stanton," he announced. "I live just next door if you hadn't gathered."

"Draco Malfoy," returned the blond, ensuring he shook Will's hand before he wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve. "So, are you a... Um..."

"Yes he is, and no he doesn't" snapped Mrs. Pettigrew as she lurched out of the kitchen. "Remember what your Father told you about awkward questions, Draco. While I'm sure Will wouldn't say anything, not everyone is as trustworthy as he."

"Yes, Mrs. Pettigrew," replied Draco resignedly.

"And for heaven's sake call me Auntie or something - 'Mrs. Pettigrew' makes me feel so old," she clucked before heading off towards the drawing room.

Deciding that it was probably best if he left certain questions for another time, he changed the subject. "Do you need a hand to your room?"

"Uh, actually, that'd be brilliant - thanks, Will. I, uh... I really am sorry for earlier."

"Hey, no problem!" Smiled Will. "Not every day I get to meet nobility."

"Nobility? Me?" snorted Draco. "I wish. Actually, my Father wishes, but we're not nobility - not by a long shot."

"Oh... I thought that... um..."

"I'll have a quick word with 'Auntie', then I'll fill you in," he smiled back. That in itself actually quite shocked Draco, his smile feeling unfamiliar - but not unpleasant - on his normally stern and unforgiving face.

Will on the other hand rapidly found himself becoming more than a little enamoured with Draco, and it was a conscious effort to tear his eyes away from him.

"C'mon then," he sighed, trying to get things moving again before Draco noticed his hesitation. "Let's tackle these stairs."

Draco, however, had always been a shrewd and accurate observer of people, and Will's slightly lingering gaze made him smile that little bit more.

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Well, that's all for the moment. Let us know what you think (good or bad) at meta4@meta4.org, or visit our web site at http://www.meta4.org.